


The Law of the Jungle

by enc0432



Series: The Dissonant Verses [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Bear. Big bear, Crucifixion, Dismemberment, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Friendship, Graphic Description, High highs, Homophobia, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Low lows, M/M, Opium Abuse, Separation, Slavery, Slight Taste of Despair, Stargazing, Suicide Attempt, Time Travel, Torture, Whipping, long distance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 36
Words: 97,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3098195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enc0432/pseuds/enc0432
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slave AU where Mahanon meets Dorian in Tevinter. Before the Conclave, before Dorian's father decides to do the ritual, and before anyone realizes the world is about to be ripped apart. (Formerly Dissonant Verses)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Law of the Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The views Rudyard Kipling had in real life to do not reflect my views at all. The use of this poem was an intentional choice based off those opinions as well as the content of the poem and as we get deeper into the story it'll hopefully make more sense if it doesn't now.

_“Now this is the law of the jungle, as old and as true as the sky,_

_And the wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the wolf that shall break it must die._

_As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk, the law runneth forward and back;_

_For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack._

 

_Wash daily from nose tip to tail tip; drink deeply, but never too deep;_

_And remember the night is for hunting and forget not the day is for sleep._

_The jackal may follow the tiger, but, cub, when thy whiskers are grown,_

_Remember the wolf is a hunter—go forth and get food of thy own._

 

_Keep peace with the lords of the jungle, the tiger, the panther, the bear;_

_And trouble not Hathi the Silent, and mock not the boar in his lair._

_When pack meets with pack in the jungle, and neither will go from the trail,_

_Lie down till the leaders have spoken; it may be fair words shall prevail._

_When ye fight with a wolf of the pack ye must fight him alone and afar,_

_Lest others take part in the quarrel and the pack is diminished by war.” -Rudyard Kipling_

 

He was ten and he was happy. His uncle had taken him to hunt, and his best friend had come with them. It was his first long one, and they were gone for days. Every snare he laid caught a rabbit, and his uncle let him try at his bow. He was still too scrawny to pull it straight, nearly succeeding in smacking himself in the face. Sulahn laughed at him so Mahanon shoved him into a snowbank.

It was good, until Sulahn accidentally caught a frozen tree on fire. Mahanon’s uncle had looked sad then. When they returned to the clan, everything changed. Sulahn was magic. 

~~

He was thirteen and his mother told him he was not to spend time with Sulahn anymore. He was to pick a girl from the clan. Start preparing to be a man. He didn’t understand it, so he didn’t listen. It was Sulahn who forced him away. Mahanon didn’t understand that either, so he gave him a gift. A knife with the handle of a wolf. Trying to preserve their past, let Sulahn know he didn’t care about the future. They would be together if he had any say in the matter. The Keeper and his mother watched them from afar, but he didn’t notice. Sulahn smiled again. 

~~

He was sixteen and somehow everything fell apart. His mother sickened, falling in battle, the first and only time Mahanon could remember. He made his first kill in her defense. He received his vallaslin, making her so proud for the first time in a long time. But the wasting illness continued to weaken her. His strong, prideful mother who would never accept him the way he was, died. 

~~

He was twenty and spending as little time as possible with the clan. Days or weeks on the trail ahead of them, finding whatever solace he could in the human taverns that would let him in the door. He was a disappointment to his clan and to Sulahn. Yet, somehow, Sulahn still saw something in him. Tried to call him home again. Even when Mahanon told him not to follow... 

***

It was snowing, and he was tired. This deer had led him far too north of the clan. The cold snap was wholly unexpected this close to the Tevinter border. He crept forward, stalking the creature. One last shot, that was all he needed. Then he could return to camp and then to the clan. Rest and then move out again. One last shot and-

_Crunch crunch crunch._

The deer bolted at the heavy steps. Mahanon cursed long and loud in every language he knew before turning to see Sulahn. The First didn’t even try to look guilty. He just seemed angry, as he always was with Mahanon these days. Mahanon started stalking back to his camp, bumping shoulders with Sulahn as he brushed past him. He pulled the flask from his hip and drank deeply, letting the fire of the liquid burn through him. 

“Is that brandy?” 

Mahanon shook the flask at him. “Want some?”  

“Dirthara ma. You need to come home.” 

“Well, thanks to you, I have nothing to bring home. Therefore, I am not coming home.” 

Sulahn cursed again as Mahanon walked away. That was his mistake, turning his back on a mage. A tingling feeling spread over his legs and he was suddenly unable to move them. 

“Fenedhis! Dread Wolf take you!” 

The First chuckled and as Mahanon tried to break his legs free. “Don’t struggle it’ll just make it worse.” 

He grabbed the flask from Mahanon and drank himself, stepping out of Mahanon’s reach as he did. He made a face, looking into it with one eye before dumping the rest into the snow.

“Where do you even find this stuff?” 

“Has anyone ever told you what an utter bastard you are?” 

Sulahn shrugged. “I’ll let you go if you stop running from me.” 

“I am a grown man, I can handle myself. I don’t need you fetching me like an errant pup.” 

“Well if you don’t want to be treated like an errant pup, quit acting like one. Come home.” 

“To what?” 

Sulahn tilted his head. “Me.” 

“Creators.” Mahanon sighed, testing the spell again. “Fine. Release me and I promise I won’t run off.” 

“Good.” Sulahn waved his hand and Mahanon was free. 

He then took a step closer to Mahanon. Mahanon felt his lips twitch and let Sulahn inch closer, before grabbing his robes and pulling him close enough their noses almost touched. 

“Hello stranger.” 

Sulahn snorted and shook his head, stepping back before Mahanon could kiss him. “You are not getting off that easily.” 

Mahanon opened his mouth and Sulahn held up his hand. 

“Yes yes, getting off. Come on it is far too cold for this.” 

“You’re really making me return home empty handed? What _will_ Deshanna say?” 

Sulahn rolled his eyes. “As if you care. Shall we?” 

“Fine f-“ 

Mahanon froze. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Never in his life had he ignored his gut, and he knew he shouldn’t know. Sulahn paused, looking back at him. 

“Do you hear that Sulahn?” 

“…No?” 

The birds had stopped singing, that was it. Even in the chill, they had been loud up until a few moments before. Mahanon drew his bow and knocked an arrow. He could hear it now, dogs. Humans were coming.

“Sulahn hide in the forest. Whatever you do don’t use your magic.” 

“Mahanon-”

He growled. “Now! While I’m talking run back to the clan.” 

“I won’t leave you here.” 

Mahanon wanted to kiss and throttle him and the same time. “Do you trust me?” 

“You know I do.” 

The dogs were baying now, scenting them. “Then you have to go. Leave no trace. Go.”

Sulahn shook his head but turned on his heel. “Ma’arlath.” 

“And I you. Leave!” 

He ran then and Mahanon was alone. It wasn’t for long. The humans crested the hill, bundled up in furs and looking gigantic. The dogs went mad as they surged towards him, forming a ring of three. He let his lips curl up, baring his teeth, but kept his eyes on the humans. One of them stepped forward, and by the Creators if they didn’t all look exactly alike some days. 

“Lower your weapon rabbit. We don’t want to hurt you.” 

Mahanon snorted. “Call off your dogs and I won’t loose this arrow.” 

“You can’t kill all of us.” 

“True.” 

Mahanon didn’t lower his bow. He could see the dogs inching forward. The shem went for his belt and Mahanon let the arrow fly. It hit its mark, killing the leader. One dog, a mabari, latched onto his arm. He managed to free a dagger with his left hand, driving it into the dog's skull and freeing it as the other ones came at him. His right arm was useless, dripping blood into the snow. He heard it steam before the other two dogs attacked at once. They were smaller, mutts, and none too bright. He got one on the throat and the other across the leg before they got too close. It was pathetic, limping as it circled him. A soft thing. It leapt anyways and Mahanon buried his dagger into its jugular. 

He was losing a lot of blood, starting to shake. Still, he pulled the dagger out, and forced his right hand to grip a second as the two humans left circled him. It gave him a twisted sort of pleasure to see their friend lay dead in the snow, arrow sticking out of a bloody eye. He grinned, seeing one of the humans stop himself from taking a step back. They didn’t see or didn’t care he could barely hold his weapons. Once more they attacked at once. He got the one on the left, who lowered his guard and got a gash across his belly for the effort. Turned out he had underestimated the one on the right, who had spotted his weakness and hit his wound as hard as he could. His dagger dropped from nerveless fingers, and he sank to his knees. 

Still, he got his second dagger into the man’s calf. Right before the man grabbed his throat and clubbed him in the head with the hilt of his sword. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I really, really wanted to write this because I'm practicing for my own novel. We are going to get dark so hang in there with me. I promise I'm not doing these things just for a cheap shock value and I will try to my best to respect the source material and the characters themselves. Once again thanks to TheFaye92 and if you click on the "Slight Taste of Despair" tag you can find her work. Oh and the Mahanon and Sulahn here are the characters from my other works but this is not that universe. I did get the basic premise from Snartz's First Time For Everything(and I would like to thank them and hope they know I'm not intentionally plagiarizing and hopefully the stories are dissimilar enough to make that clear).


	2. The Law of Club and Fang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read this first! Okay, so the first scene gets pretty gruesome(violence-wise) and trigger warning for a rape threat.

_Old longings nomadic leap, chafing at custom's chain;_  


_Again from its brumal sleep, wakens the ferine strain. -_ Jack London

 

Mahanon opened his eyes and immediately slammed them shut. Some sadistic bastard had placed him right in front of the fire, and the light had not helped the headache. He could feel his hands and legs were bound tightly, and he was laying on his side. Outside of the obvious concussion and the throbbing wound on his arm, he was unharmed. For the moment. He cracked one eye open again, not sure what had happened. He remembered Sulahn coming after him, getting attacked by dogs, and then it was blank. 

“I think that little knife-eared bastard is awake.” 

“Go tell the boss.” 

Mahanon bit back a groan as his head throbbed. A shem, a heavy-set man with a bandaged leg, sat down next to him. He blinked, confused at the malice in the man’s eyes. The man cocked his head. 

“Hit you a little hard didn’t I? You don’t even remember me.” Mahanon remained silent and the man nodded. “I best get to it then. We need to know where the rest of your clan is.”

He turned his head. The man snorted and suddenly a big hand grabbed Mahanon’s short hair, dragging him upright. He clenched his jaw, tears stinging his eyes at the pain. The thug got very close to him, breath foul and warm against his face. He patted Mahanon down slowly, removing everything. Including the ironbark ring that had belonged to his mother, grinning and pocketing it before deigning to talk. 

“You really don’t want to play hard to get with me boy.” He sat Mahanon down hard, pulling out a knife. “Speak.” 

Mahanon bared his teeth. “Ar tu na'lin emma mi len'alas lath’din.” 

“Wrong answer.” 

The bastard swung, breaking Mahanon’s nose as he knocked him down. The man kicked him in the mouth next, making him bite his tongue and knocking a tooth loose. Mahanon spat it out. 

“Fuck you.” 

He got a kick in the gut for that. He tried to crawl away only to get another one. Then he was being dragged up by his hair again, the man holding the tip of the knife to his chin. He forced Mahanon’s head in the direction of a man getting his belly sewn up. 

“We don’t have a healer. We _do_ have ten guys ready to slit your throat. Or fuck you until you talk. Take your pick.” 

Mahanon spat the blood in his face this time. “Do what you want. Just kill me when you’re done.” 

The man growled and threw him back to the ground. Mahanon tensed, not sure how much more he could take. It was slowly dawning on him these men were slavers. He was terrified. But he thought of his tiny cousins in cages, of Sulahn at the hands of this giant fuck, and tried to quell the fear. He almost choked on it instead. But the blows never came, just the sound of a scout shouting. 

“That fucking elf is back! I saw im’!” 

The big bastard looked from Mahanon to where his men were readying their weapons. He looked down at Mahanon and then grabbed a hammer from next to the fire. He slammed the hilt into Mahanon’s ankle, shattering it. He missed the triumphant words the man spat out before running off. He could only moan through the white-hot pain.

Mahanon didn’t know how long he lay there, a ball of misery. Even if he had gotten the chance to run, he no longer could. He’d be lucky if he ever ran again. Worse still was the distinct possibility his clan might be next. Might join him in the nightmare he now found himself existing in. Then there came the shouting, and he could hear heavy footfalls around his head as he faded in and out. Pain brought him straight back as he was hoisted onto the back of a horse and strapped down like so much baggage. 

“That little white-haired demon.” 

“That’s unnatural. He’s a ghost.” 

“There’s no such things as ghosts shite-for-brains.” 

Mahanon had no idea what they were talking about. Only that the horse didn’t help any of his injuries, keeping tortorously awake through the long night of riding. When he was lucky he passed out. When he wasn’t, his ankle or head would throb and wake him back up. A couple of times he was sick, until he had nothing left and another thug he didn’t recognize threatened to kill him for it. At long last it appeared their mad dash was over. The sky began to lighten, and Mahanon was slipping into a comfortable numbness. As the sun rose he was vaguely aware of being untied, and then lain down on something resembling cloth. Or at least he thought it may have been once. It was a moot point because he fell asleep almost instantly. 

~~

Dorian woke rather late. Late and with a decisive ache in his head. He groaned and raised the offending appendage, finding he was in...somebody's house. Not his own certainly. He looked down at the man sleeping on the floor beneath the couch he happened to be on. The name escaped him as did most of what they had done the night before. Dorian stepped over his prone form as quickly and as gingerly as he could, grabbing his clothes. A look at an old grandfather clock, tacky thing in the shape of a dragon, told him he had not only overstayed his welcome but was late for his meeting with Alexius. He got dressed hastily, smoothing his hair as he ran down the steps. A slave, a rather stalwart fellow with a knowing gaze held his staff out for him as he left. Freshly polished too. 

It was a mad rush through the midday crowds, the cloyingly sweet stench of the perfumed nobility not helping his headache. Minrathous was alive and well this morning, and far too bright. It was with a foul temper he found his way into Alexius', half an hour late. Which Felix happily reminded him of as he stepped into the welcome shade of the foyer. 

"You're late." 

"As usual Felix, your talent for stating the obvious remains intact. Good on you." 

Felix just rolled his eyes and forced Dorian to stop, stepping in front of him. He smooth Dorian's robes, straightening his collar. As he did he poked at something on Dorian's neck.

"Dorian you may want to see a physician. It appears some feral beast has been at your neck again." 

He groaned and slapped Felix's hand away. "You are about as helpful as a toothless, mangy mutt." 

"Flattery will get you everywhere my friend." 

Felix looked him over and nodded, admiring his handiwork. "You are presentable. And even more late." 

"Vishante kaffas." 

He brushed past Felix and swept through the doors towards the study. Felix's warm laughter followed him through the doors. For all of his frustration today, he enjoyed the Alexius’ manor. Not just because of the appointments, though they were tasteful and beautiful, but because of Gereron himself. And by extension, Felix and his mother. Here, his studies were what mattered. Changing Tevinter was what mattered. He could forget everything else. He walked in to find his mentor sitting to tea, most of the biscuits gone. Dorian’s place was set and he would bet right hand the tea was cold. Without looking up from his his book, Alexius spoke. 

“You’re late.” 

“Am I now?” Dorian took a sip of his tea, making a face. 

Alexius glanced up. “How’s the tea?” 

“Excellent as always.” 

The magister laughed lightly. “Judging by just how hungover you are, I take it your father told you the news.” 

“That I am to consign myself to becoming just like him? Married to a wife who hates me and fathering a child I know nothing about, continue the great legacy of House Pavus? That I am to ‘grow up’ as he so eloquently put it?” 

Alexius snorted. “Acting like a child is doing nothing to disservice the notion that you need to ‘grow up’ Dorian.” 

Dorian sighed, taking another sip of the ice-cold tea. It did nothing to settle the pit in his stomach. He could see the rest of his life before him, spread out like a yawning canyon, waiting to swallow him. And it was choking the life from him. Alexius closed his book with a snap, calling him back from the edge. 

“Come Dorian, I have just the thing to take your mind off your stewardship of the Pavus legacy.” 

Dorian forced a smile, grabbing a biscuit and following Alexius to the library. He could at least pretend the leap was farther off than it really was, for a few hours anyways. 

~~

_He could hear them. The wolves ahead. They sounded afraid. He turned and saw why. The faceless, coming for him. He ran. Somehow, even wolves had to be better than the ones chasing him. He chased the howling but it only got farther and farther away until he was utterly lost. There were trees, dark and shadowy, and silence. He was alone. Then they were on him and he couldn’t run. His legs refused to respond, and hot fear surged through him. But instead of the faceless, of the people he had no name for, there only a singular black snake. It slithered towards him before biting him in the ankle._

Mahanon groaned as he jerked awake, a dozen hurts making themselves known. His ankle was by far the worst and he almost whimpered but for the heavy boot that made its appearance next to his face, stifling any noise. That and he came to the realization he hadn’t had any food or water in almost three days. Sulahn’s face as he sipped from a flask came to mind, and Mahanon had to close his eyes. He’d been wrong about the worst of the pain. He was in a tent, and could hear the gentle lapping of waves. His mouth and throat were coated in the tangy taste of his own blood, making his stomach ache all the worse. 

“Can you sit up?” 

Mahanon opened his eyes and saw it wasn’t his tormentor from the night before, but a younger man. One who almost looked…sympathetic. Mahanon shook his head slightly, still not willing to speak to these people unless forced. The younger man nodded and sat him up carefully. He took out a dagger and Mahanon flinched. The man patted his arm awkwardly and cut through the binds on his ankles. Mahanon hissed. 

“Aye I know. But if you ever want to walk again I have to bind it.” 

He grabbed at Mahanon’s boot and Mahanon closed his eyes, sucking in a breath through his mouth. 

“Sweet Maker.” 

Mahanon forced his eyes open before turning his head. He really shouldn’t have looked at the pulpy mess that had become his ankle. Hate coursed through his veins, making him see read. He was going to kill the fucking bastard who did it. 

“Okay. Well. Nose first then.” 

With one fell move the man grabbed Mahanon’s nose and yanked. 

“Fenedhis!” 

He almost passed out again before the man grabbed his shoulders. “I’m sorry. Well not really. The bones have to heal straight.” 

“You can shtop helping now if that’s what you’re shupposed to be doing.” 

The man sighed. “I am sorry this was done to you. Larson is well…a right bastard. Though you also killed his brother.” 

“I’ll be shure to plache flowersh on hish grave. After I’m done pishing on Larshon’s.” 

The young human chuckled. “My name’s Harry.” 

“You musht be sho proud.” 

“Just keep in mind I’m not the enemy when I unbind your hands alright? In fact, I’m the only one in a dozen leagues who can heal you and if you try to kill me your foot will probably fall off.” 

Mahanon grunted and _Harry_ reached around him and sliced through the leather cords. That time he did faint for a minute. The mix of blood rushing back into dead fingers and the relief/pain of his shoulders finally able to relax was too much. When he came to Harry was holding him up again. The man pulled back hastily when Mahanon was able to sit up on his own again, grabbing his arm and rubbing his wrist and hands to get the blood flowing. He pulled back Mahanon’s shredded armor, revealing the dog bite that, compared to everything else, didn’t look _that_ bad. 

“How’re you even alive?” 

Harry sounded rather impressed. Mahanon didn’t dignify that with an answer. Harry sat back to look at the ankle, still daunted by it it seemed. 

“If you are going to amputate the blighted thing I’d rather you do it shooner than later.” 

“Just…take a deep breath.” 

Mahanon opened his mouth to argue but Harry grabbed his ankle. Green light flooded the tent. Spirit healing. Mahanon almost cried in relief when the pain dissipated. Not entirely. The light disappeared and his ankle was still bruised and puffy. But the bones were set. He wouldn’t be crippled for life. Harry grinned, wiping his brow. 

“I’m so happy that worked.” 

Mahanon cocked his head. “Why _wouldn’t_ it have worked Harry?” 

The man frowned. “I’m not a very good mage. That’s how I ended up here.” 

Before he could ask what that meant, Larson and a couple of other men entered the tent. Mahanon didn’t have time to even think the word ‘run’ before his arms were grabbed roughly and he was clapped in irons. They dragged him out, all but dangling him in-between them. He was stunned by what he saw. They were by the sea alright, on the outskirts of a city. A port. There were dozens of large, sea-faring ships, the biggest he had ever seen. 

He was unceremoniously shoved into a cart with seven other elves, some Dalish, some not. All in varying degrees of disrepair, though he thought he was probably the worst. One man was crying. Mahanon might have joined him if he’d had anything left. 

The cart moved forward with a lurch, Larson following close behind on a horse. They headed into the city proper, and Mahanon knew vaguely what it was. It was something he’d always been sort of frightened of, these pirate cities feeding slaves into the Imperium. It had been rather nebulous, like his fear of darkspawn or his fear of those fluffy herding dogs shems were so fond of. Now it was visceral, something he was a part of, another cog in the machine. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining and the sky clear and blue, making him heartsick. 

The people ignored them, making Mahanon want to scream at them. Humans, dwarves, and elves together glancing at them and looking away like they were no more interesting than cattle. Then it faded, the dead look in the eyes of the others crushing his will to fight. The spark faded. He watched numbly as gold changed hands, Larson gave him one last cruel grin, and they were dragged out by a new set of thugs. He felt as a dead man as he was led up the gangplank, into the dark bowels  of the monstrous slave ship that would take them to Tevinter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Mahanon. I'm so so sorry. Okay, you still here reader? Good. We can be friends. It will get better. I promise. Bonus points if you know the book the chapter title comes from.


	3. Into the Primitive

_“The land itself was a desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit of it was not even that of sadness. There was a hint in it of laughter, but of laughter more terrible than any sadness-a laughter that was mirthless as the smile of the Sphinx, a laughter cold as the frost and partaking of the grimness of infallibility.”_ -Jack London 

The ship creaked in the water, the new slaves holed up by the dozens in the cargo hold. Mahanon’s had been chained to the wall by his injured ankle, the wound on his arm ignored. It was a day before the humans joined them. Or so Mahanon guessed, he was fading in and out, it was getting hard to clock the time. There were only twelve of them compared to the elves, and as it turned out Harry was amongst them. He was placed next to Mahanon, hands bound behind his back. A man was placed on the other side of Harry, glaring daggers at Mahanon. He found it hard to care. At least until the ship was underway. He could feel the lurch, and the noise of gulls coming from the tiny window on the far wall faded. 

Mahanon finally turned his head to find the man still looking at him spitefully. “What?” 

“Oh he blames you for getting us sold. Larson got rid of everybody, disbanded his company with his brother dead. Now we're off to the Imperium with you.” 

“Wonderful.” 

The man snapped. “Don’t talk for me Harry.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’d introduce you but I don’t know your name. He’s Jax.” 

“That’s an unfortunate name.” 

The man growled and turned his head. Harry sighed. 

“Jax was a templar at my circle. I’m an apostate. Lyrium withdrawal makes him crabby.” 

“I would have thought it was the slavery thing.” 

Harry actually chuckled. “That too.” 

“Are you always this…” 

Jax chimed in. “Yes. He is.” 

Harry frowned. “I’m always what?” 

Mahanon felt his lips twitch and leaned back into the old wood, closing his eyes. His arm was throbbing now, as was his head. It was easier just to drift off. Try to stay numb about what was happening to him. 

“What’s your name?” 

Mahanon opened one eye. “Does it matter?” 

Harry shrugged. “It does to me.” 

“Why?” 

“Well…we’re friends aren’t we?” 

Jax snorted. “Maker’s balls man you’re a slave now. Act like it.” 

Mahanon saw Harry’s face fall. He sighed. 

“Just…call me Lavellan.” 

Harry grinned. “Is that your name?” 

“No.” 

“What does it mean?” 

Jax groaned. “It means shut your gob and let the man sleep Harry.” 

“Fine, fine. Lavellan.” 

He sounded happy to have won that much. Mahanon had no idea how that was even possible. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, feeling too hot and too empty. It was hours later a rough hand shook him awake, forcing water to his lips. Mahanon sucked at it greedily, not even questioning the pirate giving it to him. All too soon it was taken away and a chunk of bread with cheese was pressed into his hand. Shamefully he gulped it down before Harry could finish his own drink of water. 

As it turned out, his habit of finishing his food as fast as possible saved him from getting it stolen as the days stretched on. The humans in particular seemed to struggle with the meager rations, though some of the captured Dalish _whined_ at the lack of food. They fought, using the manacles as best they could. Jax would move protectively in front of Harry on those occasions, the pirates often not coming down in time to stop the fights, or even adjusting the chains so they couldn’t reach each other. They just didn’t seem to care. For whatever reason, Mahanon found the sporadic bouts of crying for the Maker or the Creators to save them bothered him more than the sight of slaves bashing each other’s brains in. It didn’t help his arm grew infected, and a fever set in. When he was lucid, he just wanted everything to _end_. Especially, the crying. 

The worst of it was Jax. The lyrium withdrawals only got worse as the days wore on. Mahanon was plagued by fever dreams and hallucinations, most featuring snakes and spiders. Jax was going mad. He screamed for hours, lashed out in his sleep. He almost broke poor Harry’s nose. The pirate’s, evidently, took notice. After a particularly vicious nightmare of his own Mahanon woke to find Jax was just gone, a puddle of blood left in his place. Harry was crying silently. Mahanon knew if his fever didn’t break soon, he was next. 

~~

It was going to be one of _those_ days. Dorian could tell. His father’s jaw was tight when he joined him at breakfast. His mother’s absence was notable. The meal was a silent affair, the only noise coming from clinking plates as the slaves removed them. Dorian took his leave, though not before his father could ask him where he had been the night before. He shrugged. 

“I stayed late at Alexius’.” 

“And then?” 

Dorian lied. “Then I went to call on Mae.” 

“Not Livia.” His father’s expression didn’t change. “She is tailor-made for you.” 

“No. She bloody well isn’t.” 

He really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut. His father rose. It was becoming quite the ineffective technique, now that Dorian was taller than him. Now that he was less willing to bow to the man’s wishes. Even still, he felt all of four years old at the flash in the man’s eyes. 

“These youthful dalliances must _end_ Dorian. You will cease flaunting your depravities around Minrathous!” 

“Is that all I am to you now? The depraved disgrace to the Pavus name? I thought I was your son!” 

“Get out of my sight.” Magister Halward threw a plate at his head that he barely ducked. “Get _out_! You are no son of mine!” 

Dorian fled the room. He couldn’t _stay_ , he couldn’t do this any longer. Live a lie. He had had his reasons for staying. His mother in her infirmity, finishing his work with Alexius, the vain hope his father would come around. The fact he had nowhere to go. Stomach twisting into painful knots he went to his mother’s room, dismissing her slaves with a wave of his hand. The room was dark, the curtains drawn tight even thought it was well into the morning. He remembered a time, only a couple of years before, when she was as active as his father, up with the slaves at dawn to run the house. Beautiful and sharp as the day they’d married, that’s how his father used to describe her. Now she was barely what he considered to be lucid, smiling slowly when she recognized him, eyes far away and dreamy. 

“Dorian darling. Come here.” 

He was angry. Perhaps irrationally so, but he felt abandoned by her. Here she was in some dreamscape, letting his father do as he would, hopelessly addicted. And he was helpless, unable to force her to help herself, and unable to stop his father from enabling her. 

“Mother can you even stand?” 

She laughed, shaking her head happily. “Is there someplace we need to go?” 

“Getting out bed today might be nice don’t you think?” 

She frowned. “I’ve upset you.” 

She reached for the bottle on her nightstand. A pretty thing, jeweled glass colored a deep blue, the tincture of opium swirling around inside. He grabbed it angrily and stormed out. His mother’s cries to her slaves falling on deaf ears as he left the manse entirely. Dorian wandered aimlessly, eventually coming to Alexius’, knowing full well he wasn’t there. He didn’t know what he wanted, what he needed, only that he couldn’t be home. Luckily, it was Felix who answered the door. 

“Dorian?” 

Dorian walked in, shaking his head. “Just thought I’d pop in for a visit.” 

Felix followed him, taking one look at him and waving his hand. “Come on.” 

Felix lead him upstairs to his room. Dorian was barely holding it together at that point, shutting the door behind him. He leaned on it heavily, feeling winded. His knees buckled and he slid down to the floor, shaking his head. 

“Dorian what happened?” 

He was still holding the laudanum bottle. Tears stung his eyes as he looked at it, wondering what taking it all at once would do. Felix took it from him gently, bracing his shoulders. 

“You’re okay. It’s okay Dorian. You’re going to be okay.” 

Dorian broke down then, unable to bear up under the kind words. He fell apart silently, Felix rubbing his arms, murmuring all the while, telling him he was okay. That he was safe. Dorian wished he could believe him. 

~~

He was dying. Mahanon was certain of it. He would die, head pillowed in Harry’s lap, throat cut by a pirate and body dumped overboard. Harry tried, sweet Mythal he did try. But without his hands there was nothing he could do for the festering wound on Mahanon’s arm. All he could do was beg Mahanon not to leave him alone. 

“Lavellan please. Please don’t do this.” 

Mahanon moaned. His thoughts were of Sulahn. Of soft black eyes and tangled hair. Wondering if he’d done the right thing. Praying that as little as he had done that was of any worth in his life, he had gotten _that_ part right at least. He also knew he didn’t want to die. No he wanted to fight, sink this fucking ship if he could, do something besides die alone in the dark.

He fell asleep again, or so he thought. He opened his eyes and he was back in the forest, head in Sulahn’s lap as the mage stroked his hair. It was…nice. He smiled. 

“Hello stranger.” 

“Ma vhenan.” Sulahn smiled back softly. “What are you thinking?” 

He wasn’t thinking anything. He just didn’t want this moment to end. Sulahn chuckled, bending to kiss him. Mahanon opened his mouth, let Sulahn control the kiss. He closed his eyes, his breathing starting to come fast. Then he knew. He shot out from under Sulahn and jumped to his feet. 

“This isn’t right. This…we did this already.” 

Sulahn frowned, looking hurt. Mahanon almost gave in, wanting to kiss that look off of his face. He hated that look. But it was wrong. He couldn’t quite remember why. Then his arm throbbed and he looked down, seeing the blood streaks. He fell to his knees, remembering. The not-Sulahn sighed, sounding quite put upon. 

“You cling to a body that has failed you.” 

Mahanon grabbed his arm, rocking slightly with the pain. “What else am I to cling to? This…illusion?” 

“What gave me away?” 

The not-Sulahn shifted, revealing its true form. Or as close as Mahanon was going to get to seeing it. A monster, a man with horns growing out of his head, hair a purple flame. He had a necklace of gold, the chain piercing his nipples. A sheer cloth wrapped around his waist. He tilted his head, waiting for Mahanon to respond. He shook his head as his arm spasmed again. 

He spoke through clenched teeth. “You smell wrong.” 

He was starting to get an inkling of what this was. Either it was another nightmare or a demon. He really hoped it was the first one. The demon just laughed. 

“You know I could make it stop. The pain. I could save you.” 

Mahanon snorted. “And the price?” 

“Nothing you’ll miss. I could free you, take you back to your clan. You would be hale and home.” 

It was tempting. Despite every cautionary tale he had ever heard screaming no in his head, it was tempting. But his body had already been sold. He would not trade his soul as well. 

“No.” 

The demon shifted back into Sulahn, this time forgoing the illusion of clothing. Mahanon grit his teeth. 

“You really think that will work?” 

“Won’t it?” 

His arm spasmed again. He cried out. 

“Let me go!” 

“Not yet. I’m not done with you yet.” 

A blue glow caught Mahanon’s eye. He turned to find a spirit forming, vaguely human in appearance, though it flickered unevenly. The demon growled. 

“Leave! He is mine!” 

The spirit ignored him, or was incapable of responding. Mahanon got the sense it was benevolent as it moved towards him, floating over the forest floor. It grabbed his arm, making the demon scream. Yet it did not approach. The spirit’s touch was warm, soothing the pain. The forest around them flickered and shifted. The area around them now reminded him of nothing, just a pale gold fog. The spirit was still moving over his arm, the sensation feeling very much like dipping it in warm water. 

“What are you? Why help me?” 

“I am Compassion. I help you because you need help. You must live.” 

“What for?”

Compassion did not respond. The Fade began to dissipate, and Mahanon realized he was waking up. The spirit flickered out of sight, and Mahanon gasped, coming back into reality with a jolt. Harry was there, still pleading with him to live. He sat up, feeling his mistake. He had missed his last meager meal, and was weakened by their time in the hold. He leaned against the wall, using his shoulder for balance. Mahanon found he was panting, breathing in the stale air as if he’d never drawn breath before. His body was sore, but it was bearable. He was going to live. 

Harry stared at him, wide-eyed. “Your arm. Lavellan your arm.” 

His arm had been healed. There was a scar, twisted and gnarled from the infection, but the wound itself was gone. He sat down heavily. _It was just a dream. It had to be just a dream._  

“I met…I was-”The sound of seagulls met his ears; the noise distracted him. “We’re near the shore again.” 

Harry look towards the window. The other slaves were looking out as well, the ones with some fight left in them getting to their knees. Harry moved instinctively closer to Mahanon. A new tension filled the room, yet no one spoke. There was no panic left, no prayers. Just the pirates coming for them. Once more Mahanon was dragged to his feet, marched out onto the deck. He shielded his eyes as best he could against the sun, before he was shoved forward. Solid ground made his legs shaky, the lack of food and sun screwing with his vision. When he adjusted he froze, awed. 

They had landed in the largest city he had ever seen. Marble buildings climbed into the sky, their roofs tipped with gold. Crumbling stone dragons and stained glass windows caught his eye. The tallest buildings twisted and spiraled, making even the oldest trees he’d seen look like miserable sticks in comparison.The port itself was bustling with life, galleons several times larger than the ship he’d just been carted off stood stoically against their smaller and sleeker counterparts, whit sails billowing in the breeze like so many clouds. The people bustled about in every color and shape humans came in, flocking about in a chaotic dance only they seemed to know. 

And the slaves. Mostly elven, some human and dwarf. All recognizable by the collars and brands they wore. It brought him back to who he was now. Or who he was supposed to be. There was a part of him that had almost gone out, snuffed out by despair. A spark that would never accpet this fate. But he had survived, and he was determined not to let that part die. _Bend, but do not break._ That was when one of the pirates cuffed him in the back of the head. 

“Keep moving slave.” 

He clenched his jaw and stepped forward onto the dock. _Welcome to the Tevinter Imperium._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mahanon and Dorian will finally meet next chapter...It'll go great.


	4. The Tameness of a Wolf

_“Fool:_   _He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health,_ _a boy's love, or a whore's oath._ ” -William Shakespeare   


Mahanon soon learned the reason the pirates didn’t give a damn about their cargo as long as most of them made the journey was because they got paid in bulk. Sold to special houses who would sort through them and decide which market they would fetch the highest price at. Not only was Mahanon now property, he found he wasn’t even worth that much. A fact made very clear about twenty minutes into their first day ashore. They were lined up in two rows, an older elf with an unmarked face moving between them, completely unimpressed. His name was Harlan, and he was collared. But he gazed at them imperiously, stopping to grab Harry’s jaw. 

“Show me your teeth.” 

Harry did, keeping his eyes on the ground. One of Harlan’s guards spoke. 

“He’s a mage.” 

“Oh?” 

Harlan let Harry go. “Put him with the others.” 

Harry caught Mahanon’s eye, terrified. Then he was dragged off without so much as a good-bye. Mahanon wanted to harden his heart, brush off the loss. But he couldn’t. He could barely stand, yet he refused to make this easy on his new _owners_. Harlan stepped in front of Mahanon, looking him up and down as if he were no more than an insect. A contempt, he’d noticed, reserved for the Dalish elves. Mahanon held his gaze and Harlan simply grabbed his jaw. 

“Show me your teeth runt.” 

Mahanon growled. Harlan snorted and punched Mahanon in the gut. He gasped, falling to his knees. The other slaves stepped back, the armed men in charge of keeping order snorting. Harlan knelt down in front of him. 

“I said, show me your teeth.” 

“No.” 

It was a stupid show of defiance, they both knew it. Still, it was all Mahanon had. Harlan grabbed the back of his neck, baring his teeth. 

“I want this one with the house slaves.” 

Mahanon frowned. He was dragged back to his feet, having no idea how being a house slave was a punishment, just that it had to be. One of the other Dalish elves and and five of the unmarked elves got carted off with him. Mahanon didn’t think he ever see the rest of them again. One of the unmarked elves, a pretty little thing despite the grime of the ship, looked angrily at Mahanon. 

“You’re a fool.” 

He tilted his head. “Nice to meet you too.” 

“Do you have any idea where we’re going?” 

The other Dalish elf spoke up, purple eyes flashing. “At least he showed some courage flat-ear.” 

“Ah yes very brave. Now he’s slated to be a pleasure slave like the rest of us.” 

Mahanon blanched. “A what?” 

“You heard me.” 

Then Mahanon looked at the other elves. They kept their eyes on the ground, were docile. It sickened him. Up until that moment, he had felt contempt for them, being so resigned to their fate. The other Dalish swallowed. He had the mark of Andruil, deep blue trailing over his pale skin. He flushed with righteous indignation. 

“Pleasure slaves?” 

The elf rolled her eyes. “Technically house slaves. We were sold to a bathhouse.”  

Mahanon and the other Dalish exchanged glances. His own stomach twisted with nausea as they traveled away from the ocean. His eyes were no longer on the spectacular buildings, but on the people themselves. Beautiful, for shems, and not a one gave them a second glance. Their cart went deeper into the city, going down a street laced with money. There were shops and eateries, dark-skinned nobles sitting outside in the sun, collared elves serving them. Their cart finally stopped in front of a domed building, archways open to the elements. 

The guards led them inside. The interior was laid with blue and white tiles that created a dizzying mosaic which swirled over the walls and floors. Inside was a woman, dressed in red silks that hugged her form. She looked like a native-born woman. The seven of them were lined up and she tilted her head, speaking in an accented trade-speak. 

“I understand that you are most likely not here of your own freewill. That being understood I expect that utmost obedience. In return, you will be treated well, fed and clothed. Should you perform your duties well you will earn the chance to buy your freedom.” 

Mahanon bristled at the thought of that. It didn’t matter though, they were escorted by the hired men into a room filled with steam and swirling water. Collared and naked slaves stripped them. It was both humiliating and a massive relief to wash the grime of the last few weeks off. The girl who had yelled at him pinched his skin. 

“You’re almost okay-looking under all of that.” 

Mahanon splashed her lightly. “Do you have a name little gnat?” 

She snorted, sighing as she sank deeper into the water. “Lila.” 

“I’m Lavellan.” 

He shouldn’t be getting friendly with anyone again. He couldn’t help it thought. The other Dalish popped up from under the water at his elbow, getting both him and Lila. 

“Call me Taron.” 

Mahanon looked at Lila. “How do these places work anyways?” 

She shrugged. “We cook and clean for the established slaves. Eventually, we work our way up to serving the patrons themselves. You earn enough gold for the house, you can buy your freedom.” 

A hot surge of anger worked its way through him at the thought. Lila caught it and squeezed his arm. 

“You should learn to hide your emotions better. That look is liable to get you killed.” 

Taron growled. “Can you blame him?” 

She just shrugged and it killed Mahanon she was so consigned to this fate. “It is what it is. it’s how you survive here. It could be worse.” 

Mahanon sank deeper into the hot water, starting to feel light-headed with how much had changed in such a short time. Lila could give up if she so wished. He had to find a way out. 

~~

Their mistress, Joana, gave them a day to rest. They were escorted to a dormitory up the stairs, given individual beds to sleep on, and left alone. Mahanon slipped into a blissfully dreamless sleep. At dawn they were woken up, given the most ridiculous garments he had ever seen his life to wear, and fed. Then put to work cleaning and filling the baths. There were moments he thought if this was all that was to be expected of him, it might not be so bad. Then Harlan made his appearance. Mahanon realized Joana was the one who held his leash, and Harlan had not warmed up to him. 

Joana called on Mahanon to wait on her during her noonday meal, and Harlan joined her. If he had known nothing else about the elf, he would have hated him just for the way he melted and every scrap of praise or attention Joana threw his way. Most of their exchanges were in Tevene, and Mahanon could still see the way Harlan acted like well-loved cat around the woman. It was night and day when Joana was called away during the meal, leaving them alone. Harlan watched Mahanon with those cat’s eyes, now far more predatory. 

He gestured for Mahanon to pour him more wine. When Mahanon did Harlan’s hand snaked around his wrist. He growled and dropped the jug. The ceramic broke on the tiles and Mahanon backed away from Harlan. The other elf rose. 

“Pick it up.” 

Wine spread over Mahanon’s bare feet as he backed up. “No.” 

He’d seen the look on Harlan’s face before. On a half-starved wolf. The elf grinned and snapped his fingers. Lightning shot through his legs, making his knees buckle. He fought it but he was brought down to Harlan’s feet. The elf crouched, clearly enjoying Mahanon’s pain. 

“You know what my favorite thing about the Dalish is? Breaking them. Do you think you’re the first hunter too proud to be a whore? That you’re special?” 

He cupped Mahanon’s face. Mahanon had enough control to turn and bite his hand, drawing blood. Harlan drew back his hand to strike as the door opened. He cut the magic, turning to find Joana had returned. She spat something out in Tevene that had Harlan tugging Mahanon to his feet. The elf shoved him down the hall, angry. Just before they reached the dormitory he turned and shoved Mahanon into the wall, pinning him by the throat. 

“Make no mistake, you will learn to obey.” 

“Or you will kill me?” Mahanon snapped. 

Harlan pressed just a little bit harder on his windpipe. “Oh no. I have so much worse in mind for you than death.” 

He shoved Mahanon into the dormitory. He massaged his throat, clenching his jaw. The rest were there, Lila chewing her lip. He tilted his head. 

“What is it?” 

She shook her head. “A magister is here. To buy one of us. Evidently he wants something ‘fresh.’” 

That sent a shiver down his spine. He didn’t have time to ask more questions before the door was opened again and Joana and this magister walked in. Joana spoke to him in Tevene, gesturing towards the non-Dalish slaves. The ones who actually looked at the ground. But the magister’s dark eyes went to him instead, looking him over. Mahanon stared back, taking in the dark robes and hair, face lined with age. He did not seem overtly dangerous. Looked nothing like the what Mahanon thought a magister would look like. Yet there was something there, something that made him want to back and way and cower from the man’s gaze. 

His instinct wasn’t wrong. The man spoke and Joana nodded, smile pleasant and she gestured to Mahanon. 

“Lavellan come along. We must prepare you for travel to House Pavus.” 

Mahanon stepped forward hesitantly, looking at Lila. She returned the glance briefly, eyes filled with pity. He wondered what fresh hell he was stepping into now. 

~~

Dorian looked at himself in the mirror, trying to figure out how he had ended up dressing for his betrothal feast. One of those moments that had been planned since his birth. All just part of the plan. He fidgeted with his cufflinks. He looked dashing, the perfect portrait of an Altus. Which was just about how he felt, as flimsy and illusionary. The door to his chambers opened and his mother swept in. The illusion was just about perfect on her, raven hair piled high, priceless jewels at her throat, eyes sharp and clear as she took in his appearance. You would have to work hard to notice her unnaturally pale skin, the dress cut to hide how thin she was. It physically ached how much he had missed her like this, narrowing her eyes as she fidgeted with every crooked button and slight wrinkle. 

“How you ever dress yourself on your own is a wonder love.” She swept her hands over his shoulder though, bracing him. “Red is your color though.” 

He cleared his throat. “I’ve always thought so.” 

They both turned to the mirror then, her hand coming to rest on his back. The illusion wavered for a moment. There he was, young and vigorous, and there she was, small and frail. Then she she patted him. 

“You and your father have the same nose.” 

He snorted. “Well we have that much in common at least.” 

She sighed. “Tonight won’t be so terrible you know. Liv looks darling.” 

“Mother she could be naked, twirling batons of fire and it would hardly matter. This isn’t what I want.” 

Mistress Halward pinched the bridge of her nose. “Must you be so crass?” 

“I thought I was minding your delicate sensibilities quite nicely.” 

“We are only trying to do what is right by you.” 

Dorian shook his head. “If that were true, it wouldn’t feel so much like my funeral.” 

“Don’t be melodramatic. It does tire me so.” 

He made his way to the door, trying to keep some semblance of calm. “We can’t have that, now can we?” 

He heard her sigh again as he made his way downstairs. Livia was waiting for him, at least looking as unhappy as he felt. She was far more talented at schooling her features than he was, her discomfiture passed and she smiled, white teeth perfect against her copper skin. He bowed and held out his arm, his father and mother not far behind them. Livia squeezed his arm and whispered into his ear. 

“How many sovereigns do you want to bet my father is drunk in an hour?” 

He snorted. “I’ll take that bet if you’ll put ten on Lord Rayes trying to feel you up by the second waltz.” 

She groaned. His mother and father lined up in front of them, and you could barely see the disdain between them. His future with Livia. He straightened his shoulders as the doors opened and they stepped into the ballroom. 

~~

It was hours later and several cups of wine Dorian and Livia quit the dance floor. Or he quit, she found men she actually wanted to dance with. It was now socially acceptable if he went to grab some food and accidentally chat with Felix. His mother had long-since retired, his father disappeared to Maker knew where. Felix saw him approach, winked, and grabbed a bottle of wine. Dorian smiled to himself and caught Livia’s eye. She inclined her head and he bowed before following Felix out into the gardens. It was much cooler out there, and Felix was shaking his head. 

“Did you see Magister Noland? I thought he was going to slit his wrists and declare war on my father right there on the dance floor.” 

“Mother would have been so put out. She had the slaves working all day on polishing that floor.” 

Felix laughed, drinking straight from the bottle. “Oh how it gleamed. Accentuated just how badly you didn’t want to be there.” 

Dorian grabbed the bottle from him. “I take offense to that. I was, and am, the very essence of propriety my friend. My utter disdain for this charade was well-hidden.” 

“Speaking of charades, I couldn’t help but notice that Relenus hasn’t left yet.” 

“Felix…” 

The other man frowned. “He might be good for you.” 

“You know how very unlikely that is. Besides, who says I would be any good for him? Just leave it be.” 

Felix sighed and Dorian passed him the bottle before finding a bench and sitting down on it. After a moment he heard the soft footfalls of velvet slippers over stone, turning to see Livia had followed them after all. She grabbed the bottle from Felix and drank deeply without saying a word. Felix watched with a tilted head, amused. 

“My lady?” 

Livia sighed, giving the bottle to Dorian. “I am glad tonight is finally over.” 

“Oh my wounded pride.” 

She turned a raised eyebrow on him. “Relenus was asking for you. Before my feet got trampled by his brother.” 

“Venedhis does everyone know about that?” 

“Dorian bite your tongue there is a lady present.” 

“Vishante kaffas Felix.” Livia gave Dorian a consoling pat on the shoulder. “Just everybody.” 

“Fantastic.” 

Felix shook his head. “You two deserve each other.” 

They both glared at him and he raised his hands. “Apologies. Livia I don’t believe we’ve danced together yet.” 

Her frown gave way to a smile. Felix had the innate ability to charm members of either sex simply by being himself. Once again Dorian found himself reflecting how much better the man was than the rest of them, as he pulled his betrothed into a silent waltz. He was lost in thought as they flirted shamelessly with one another, pulling at the wine bottle. He didn’t want to admit it was Relenus he was thinking of. 

Dorian didn’t notice his father had joined them until Felix’s hurried “Magister Halward” reached his ears. He looked up, fairly buzzed, and slightly amused by his father’s clear disdain for their little gathering. 

“Felix I am so glad you could make it. Livia my dear I believe it is time for the young Master Alexius to escort you home, don’t you?” 

“Yes Magister Halward.” 

She kissed his cheeks and Felix bowed, holding his arm to her. Dorian watched them go, drinking from the bottle again before glancing at his father. 

“Isn’t it my duty to escort her home Father? After all it would be the _proper_ thing.” 

His father took the bottle from him and set it down on the bench. “I have a wedding present for you. Come with me.” 

For once, his father didn’t seem angry with him. He followed, curious. Particularly when they went up to his bedroom. His father opened the door and there stood an elf. His hands were manacled in front of him, dressed in some ridiculous sheer costume that didn’t match the tattooed face or crooked nose. What caught Dorian’s attention was the _hate_ in those eyes. No one had ever looked at him with such open hostility before. 

“Father what is this?” 

“Your wedding present.” His father scowled at the slave. “You are too bold slave.” 

The man cast his eye downward. Dorian shook his head. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“Yes you do. He is yours. I understand you have…urges. You are to exercise them on him. That way poor Livia will have a true husband and you can be satisfied.” 

Dorian took a step back from his father, suddenly nauseous and feeling quite sober. His father turned on his heel as if that the end of the discussion. Dorian followed him out of the room angrily, slamming the door. 

“This flies in the face of _everything_ you have ever taught me. I won’t force myself on a slave!” 

Magister Halward showed his true colors again, rounding on Dorian. Lightning sparked off his fingertips and he found himself backing away. 

“This is my final word on the matter. You will do as I ask or be cut off entirely. I will not have a son like you. Make this work.” 

His father strode off and Dorian watched him go, mouth agape. He was quite certain his father had finally snapped. He looked back to the door of his room, not wanting to go in. He sighed. He could at least explain to the man he had no intention of touching him. He never got the chance. When he opened the door cold metal wrapped around his neck. 

“Ma hamlam you fucking shem.” 

He clutched at the chain in panic, struggling against his would-be killer. The man was strong. His mind grew clouded. He tried lashing out with magic, but it was becoming harder and harder to think. He managed a shocking spell but the elf was mad with rage, only pulling the chain down harder. Dark spots flickered over his vision, and he thought this might, in fact, be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...that happened. But hey finally got Dorian and Mahanon in the same room together.


	5. If Slavery Be a Sin

_ "If slavery be a sin, it is not yours. It does not rest on your action for its origin, on your consent for its existence. It is a common law right to property in the service of man; its origin was Divine decree."_  -Jefferson Davis

Mahanon found he barely struggled with the decision to strangle the human. He had had enough. He would sooner die than play the pet to anyone. As badly as he wanted to see Sulahn again, see his family, he would not debase himself. So he moved by the door. When the human returned he wrapped his manacles around his neck. It proved a mistake, like everyone else in this forsaken country he was a mage. He shocked Mahanon, coughing and sputtering. Mahanon  only pulled down harder on his throat, the pain making him clench his jaw. Then the man went limp and Mahanon dropped him on the floor, nearly collapsing himself. 

He braced himself against the wall, trying to catch his breath. He could see the man still breathing. Mahanon had no desire to kill him he realized, he just wanted out. Just as he rose to find a way out, the door opened. He froze as a woman walked in, opening her mouth. She looked to the man on the floor, then to Mahanon, and shouted something in Tevene. Then he was blasted with magic and launched into the wall, cracking his head. He slumped to the floor, vision flickering as the woman knelt to the man, pressing a hand to his damaged throat. 

He lost consciousness as the magister came in. 

~~

Dorian heard his mother calling his name, opening his eyes. He saw the slaves carrying the limp body of his attacker out. His father knelt, wrapping a hand around his throat. He murmured the healing spell and Dorian was able to breathe again. He sat up, hand on his neck. Anger boiled up in him at the guilt in his father’s face. 

“I will see that savage tortured and killed for what he has done.” 

Dorian snorted as he got to his feet. “And what of your part in it? _You_ are the one that brought him here. You foisted him on me!” 

His mother got in between them. “That is enough. Dorian you should rest. Halward I would have words with you.” 

She touched Dorian’s cheek before leading his father into the hall. Despite the healing his lungs still ached, and he shook his head. He had never been physically assaulted before. It left him feeling uneasy, even if the attacker was now locked away. He touched his fingers to his neck again. He had almost died. It hit him then and he felt his hand start to shake. He knew why the slave had attacked. Dorian had never met a slave that wasn’t docile, and he had assumed it was because of how he treated them. And he had no doubt the slave had known exactly why his father had purchased him. It made Dorian’s stomach clench with distaste. This went deeper than his pride. _You don’t blame an animal for attacking. You blame the man who loosed him._  

He wasn’t sure when his feet started carrying him downstairs. He saw his father’s manservant, and called to him, voice an embarrassing croak. 

“Athras.” 

The elf turned, bowing his head. “Master Dorian. I am terribly sorry about what happened.” 

He waved his hand dismissively. “Where is the slave being kept?” 

“He’s been locked in the larder Master.” 

Dorian nodded and went. Why he did not know. Two more slaves, his father’s bodyguards, stood stoically. They bowed their heads as he approached. 

“Master Pavus.” 

“I want to see him.” 

They both exchanged looks of panic. He raised his hands. 

“My father will not hear of this, I assure you. It’ll be our little secret.” 

Neither of them thought that was a good idea, clearly. Still they unlocked the door and stepped aside, having little choice in the matter. There was no light, so Dorian lit a flame in his palm to light the room. The slave was on his knees, staring at the floor. His dark hair was streaked with dried blood, his face stone. The manacles were now keeping his hands behind his back. _An oversight they could have corrected before he tried to kill me._ Dorian was still wrapping his mind around that bit. The slave looked up at long last. The look of despair tore through Dorian. Then the man’s eyes hardened, his mouth set, and he went back to his staring contest with the floor. Dorian thought that that was particularly unfair of him. _He_ hadn’t tried to kill the elf after all. 

“I had no intentions of touching you you know. Not that I owe you an explanation. Strangling me was a complete overreaction on your part.” 

The elf didn’t respond at all. He tried again in that common tongue Southerners preferred and still received nothing. Dorian wouldn’t even have been sure the man hadn’t turned into a statue were it not for the slight rise and fall of his shoulders. He found himself growing angry. 

“A savage. That is all you are. An animal.” 

That got the elf to look at him. Dorian didn’t think he’d been wrong on the savage part. The elf wasn’t like others he’d seen at all. He was jagged, all sharp edges and steel. The tattoos, even in the shape of a tree, only served to make his face more angular. His nose was crooked. It was the eyes that almost made him flinch though. They caught the firelight, glinting with barely-contained hate. 

His voice was a growl. “You people rip me away from my family, torment me, try to use me as whore, and _I’m_ the savage?” 

Dorian did jerk on the word whore. “I would _never-_ ”

“Fenedhis why are you even down here? To gloat to a dead man? You won! Get out!” 

He really didn’t know why he was trying to defend himself to this feral creature. He owed him no explanation. _He_ hadn’t tried to kill him. Dorian let the flame go from his hand, turning to leave. But before he turned his back completely he caught the way the man’s eyes glinted. He realized it was from the faint starlight coming from the window. Heat flushed through his chest, a strange ache forming in his gut. He shook it off and walked out of the door, slamming it on the slave. 

~~

Mahanon watched the Vint bastard go, having no idea what to make of their interaction. Only that he had needed it to stop. He had been doing his best not to think of his clan or Sulahn. He needed to separate them from this nightmare, keep the memories pure. They were too precious. But now, with no hope of escape, he dwelled on them. On his cousins, neither twin knowing the meaning of constraint. Nehn, already wild and clever, rarely stopping to breathe. Her brother Sam, who preferred listening to the Keeper’s stories and watching him write. Of his uncle Assan, calm and assured and the best hunter in the clan after his mother had died. Of Sulahn. 

He almost sobbed at the thought of Sulahn. It hurt too much. He regretting pulling away before he left, of not spending every possible second he could with the mage. He wondered why Compassion had saved him if only to have this be his fate. He would die alone and in pain, and the only people who would know wouldn’t even care. _Enough_. He clenched his fists, digging his nails into his palms. Whatever his fate, he would not let them see he was afraid. He wouldn’t beg. Wouldn’t break. 

He didn’t sleep, waiting for the dawn to come. When it did, it was accompanied by the magister, who looked as imperious as ever. The man narrowed his eyes. 

“I would kill you for _daring_ to touch my son. But death is too good for an animal such as you. You will be made an example of, then sold to the lowest bidder. You will be used in worse ways than your limited mind can imagine. Perhaps then, when you are nothing but a husk of the creature you are now, you will finally know your place in this world.” 

Mahanon wondered how he sounded so threatening without ever changing his expression. His dark eyes glittered, bright and stormy with his intent. Mahanon believed him. But he kept his face and body still. The magister waved his hand and two slaves, eyes as hard as their master’s, pulled him to his feet. It seemed every slave in the household was present to watch him. Mahanon let his lips curl into a silent snarl, making a couple flinch. Then his eyes landed on the son. The man was frowning, brow furrowed. Mahanon thought he saw pity there for a moment. Something tore in him then and he tried an old trick, slamming his head at in angle and into one of the slave’s noses, hearing it crunch. They both dropped him and one kicked him in the groin. He fell to one knee and they reached for him again. Mahanon got a bite in before he was punched in the jaw, falling painfully on his hands. 

The magister growled. “Enough.”

He electrocuted Mahanon. He spasmed, letting out a choked cry as the shocks burned white hot over his skin. The man stood over him angrily, not backing off. Mahanon thrashed, no longer able to scream. The pain coursed through his veins, and he could feel his heart palpitating violently. Soon, it would stop. In his blind panic he almost didn’t hear the angry voice that thundered through the courtyard. 

“Father stop!” 

~~

Dorian didn’t sleep. He couldn’t. Those blasted eyes wouldn’t let him. He tried, crawled into bed and tried to forget the elf. But those eyes haunted him, driving him out of bed and onto the plush rug. He was certain if he kept up his pacing he would wear a groove in the thing. The truth was, he felt guilty, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. He had never raised a hand to a slave. His father ensured they were well-fed and their families were provided for. At holidays they were given an extra meal and a day off. 

He wasn’t blind. He knew there were slaves that were mistreated. He _had_ felt guilty at times, but it passed. He had always been more focused on the rampant misuse of blood magic, on the bigger picture. If he was entirely honest with himself, he didn’t want to think about it. He was already a pariah, only his father’s power and Alexius’ good will keeping him from being ostracized entirely. Or killed. Taking on the slave trade, or even trying to reform it, was too large of a problem even for his lofty ambitions. Dorian ran a hand through his hair, agitated. 

_He_ wasn’t the problem. His countrymen were. _You can keep telling yourself that Dorian. Rinse and repeat until you actually believe it._ It still didn’t erase the gnawing feeling chewing away his insides, nor did it help him sleep. He tried broaching the problem from a different angle. Focus on the one slave whose fault this all was. He still cringed as he thought about their exchange. For all of his logic and education, for every rationalization he could come up with, he couldn’t justify the man being torn away from the world he had known. Dorian didn’t understand _wanting_ to be with your family. But he did understand having free will taken away. 

“Fasta vass this is madness. Utter madness. He tried to kill you. Yet here you are.” 

_And now you’re muttering to yourself._ He sighed, looking out of his window. The sky was starting to lighten. The sun would be up, and the slave would be taken to the stockades in the center of Minrathous. He would be whipped to within an inch of his life, and then killed or sold. Dorian had seen it exactly once in his life, and had been determined never to witness it again. _And I’m the savage?_ He groaned, stopping his pacing. 

He looked up, letting his shoulders sag. Perhaps, he couldn’t help every slave in Tevinter. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to. But he could help the one. The sun was coming up, filtering through the many colored windows of the manor. He made his way into the courtyard, where the entire staff was watching. No doubt on his father’s orders. They drew the slave out, the man meeting everyone’s eyes. Even Dorian’s. It was brief, but Dorian saw the steel, the edges that threatened to cut open everyone around him. Right before he broke Henley’s nose. The ensuing struggle was cut short when his father stepped in. Dorian felt the pull of magic and his stomach twisted in disgust when he realized his father wasn’t going to stop until the elf was dead. 

“Father stop!” 

He was crossing the courtyard, grabbing his father’s arm as the elf thrashed at their feet. His father attempted to shake him off and maintain his concentration. Dorian cursed and began trying to nullify the spell. They remained locked in a battle of will, his father caught up in the moment and Dorian struggling against him. Then it started to work and Magister Halward cut the magic with a curse. Dorian glanced down at the elf, relieved when he saw the man was still conscious.  Then his eyes met his father’s and he released him, jaw set. 

“I want to keep him. I would prefer if you didn’t roast him alive.” 

The elf let out a groan. If looks could kill, his father’s eyes would wither him where he stood. 

“You will not do this here.” 

“Fine. Athras see that this man is brought to my rooms and his wounds treated.” 

Athras stepped out from the pillars of the courtyard, uncertain. Dorian’s father clenched his jaw but then nodded. Dorian almost sagged in relief at his victory, but he needed to focus. 

“And for the love of all that is good and holy in this world get him some proper clothes.” 

Then he followed his father to his study. He now had to justify his madness, and then set about convincing the elf not to kill him in his sleep. His lips twitched at the look on his father’s face, and he straightened his shoulders. It might be worth it if the man had an aneurysm before the day was out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It hurt my soul to type the words "justifications for slavery" into google. Hope you guys liked this chapter because now I need a shower. (But in all seriousness thank you guys for the support so far.)


	6. The Existence of Snakes

_"Snakes? Even before I knew of the existence of snakes, I was tormented by them in dreams."_  -Jack London

 

They waited in silence for Dorian’s mother. A move that served to have Dorian sitting in front of both of his parents in his father’s study, feeling like the little boy who had accidentally lit the rug on fire in his mother’s parlor and not the man he was. Still he’d made up his mind about the slave, and he wouldn’t let his parents cow him into submission. 

“You want to  _keep_  that creature? After what he did?” His mother frowned. 

Dorian nodded. “I do.” 

“He is only doing this because he thinks it will aggravate me.” Magister Halward snapped. 

He snorted, that was just a happy coincidence. “Did it ever occur to you I am doing this because I think it is the right thing to do? Why buy the man only to kill him for doing what I would have done in his place?” 

That left his father speechless. His mother shook her head. 

“Dorian  _you_  are not an animal. You would never be in his place.” 

“He’s not here because he’s an animal he’s here because some jumped up thug wanted coin. To pretend otherwise is just folly at this juncture.” 

His father slammed his hand on his desk, making both of them start. “I will not have him under this roof!” 

Dorian clenched his jaw but controlled his rising ire. His mother shut down entirely, flinching back from her husband. Making it far harder for Dorian to reach across the table and strangle the man. He thought about that brief moment of despair he’d witnessed the night before. The glazed over eyes of the elf, the grief lined into his face. He looked at the palms of his hands, knowing what this was going to cost him and hoping his sudden bout of madness was worth it. 

“I will stop dragging my feet where Livia is concerned. You can set the date.” 

“Festis bei umo canavrum.” His father pinched the bridge of his nose. “If he stabs you in your sleep, which I have no doubt he will try, I  _will_  sell him back after flaying him within an inch of his life. From here on out his blood and any he sheds is on your hands. Now get out of my sight.” 

_Gladly_. He had every intention of falling into his bed and sleeping for a month. Things had calmed down to an extent, the slaves going about their business. He made a beeline for his quarters, stepping inside and turning towards the bed only to find the slave sound asleep in it. He opened his mouth in surprise, intending to wake him up and kick him out. But he froze when he saw the man was wearing  _his_  robes. Even more ridiculous he was still manacled. Athras walked in, humming and carrying the bloody remnants of the elf’s preposterously sheer robes from before. 

“Master Pavus.” 

“Athras.” Dorian realized he was speaking in a whisper, and cleared his throat. Perhaps if he spoke up the elf would wake up and he wouldn’t have to actually kick him out. “He is wearing  _my_  clothes.” 

The older elf nodded. “You said to get him proper clothing. He has also been bathed and his wounds treated. He may need to eat.” 

Dorian looked at the sleeping man on the bed, how he was swimming in his robes, how his cheekbones stuck out just a bit too far. He sighed. 

“Have a tray sent up a few hours. Then see about getting him a place to sleep in the slave wing.” 

“Very well Master Pavus. Anymore I can do for you?” 

He shook his head. “Just see that nothing interrupts me for at least six hours I beg of you.” 

The other man’s lips twitched and he nodded before bowing and taking his leave. It was probably exhaustion speaking, but he thought he got a sense of approval from the man. It was a tad unsettling. There was a soft snore from his bed and he frowned, turning as the door shut behind Athras.  _Now what?_  He had no idea what to do with the elf. He took a step closer to the bed, wondering if waking him up would simply prompt more violence. The man was practically comatose, and Dorian had the distinct feeling it had been a long time since he’d simply slept. Under the tattoos he suddenly looked quite young and far less dangerous. In fact, he seemed younger than Dorian himself, though it was hard to be sure. 

Handsome too, in a roguish sort of way with his rough-shorn chestnut hair and copper skin. Dorian shook his head, feeling rather awkward about staring at the elf while he slept. He gave up and went to the couch by his fireplace. He fell into it, too tired even to find an extra pillow or blanket. He just sank gratefully into sleep. 

~~

When he woke it was to warm brown eyes inches away from his face. Startled he sat straight up, taking too long to recognize Felix. 

“Fasta vass.” 

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. The elf was still sound asleep, though now his hands were twitching.  _I really need to remove those manacles._  Felix was watching him closely before grabbing an apple and biting into it, flopping down next to Dorian on the couch. 

“So I wake up this morning as I usually do after an evening spent in your company, slightly hungover. I go down to breakfast to find my father in quite the fuss because he received a note from  _your_ father saying his golden boy was attacked last night and will be unable to attend his lessons today.” 

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I assume you are approaching a point.” 

“Well I, being the concerned friend that I am, race over here to check on you only to find that your father is beside himself with fury and a slave is chained up in your bed.” 

There his friend’s eyes flashed dangerously. Felix was all good humor and good will usually, not a malicious bone in his body. Except when it came to things like chaining a slave up and leaving him in a bed. Dorian threw up his hands. 

“For the love of the Maker! First him and now you. Is there something about me that screams ‘lecherous cretin’?” 

“It’s the mustache.” 

Dorian sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “For the record he attacked  _me_.” 

“Dorian.” 

He ignored Felix and got to his feet, going to the tray of food. He swallowed down some wine and cheese, trying to wake up while under his friend’s disapproving gaze. When he could take no more he set the goblet down with a sharp  _clink_. He didn’t notice his switch from Tevene in his agitation. 

“My father bought him. He’s my wedding present.” He spat out. “I’ll leave you to guess the details. He, naturally, tried to kill me apparently missing the part where I told my father I would  _never_  use a slave like that.” 

Felix ran a hand over his hair. “And now?” 

“Now I am stuck with a man who would sooner kill me than look at me, who, and I can’t emphasize this enough, I didn’t want in the first place.” 

A voice, clouded and thick with sleep, came from the bed. “You could always set me free.” 

~~

_Snakes again._ Why is it always snakes?  _He was in a pit with no way out. The only light was far off, too far to reach him. Too far to light all of the shadows. The snakes hissed when he tried to move. He froze and looked for a way out. That action alone got him bit. He looked down to see the culprit, a black python wrapping itself around his leg. The other snakes continued their hissing but didn’t strike. The python kept squeezing even as its venom coursed its way through his system. He sank to the ground and the snake slithered up him, wrapping around his chest. He could feel his heart beat slowing, lethargy dragging him down. Complacent as the snake began to wind its way around his neck._

He wrenched himself awake. Only to hear Dorian going off. 

“He, naturally, tried to kill me apparently missing the part where I told my father I would  _never_  use a slave like that.” 

A voice he didn’t know, throaty and clearly male spoke. “And now?” 

“Now I am stuck with a man who would sooner kill me than look at me, who, and I can’t emphasize this enough, I didn’t want in the first place.”

He couldn’t help himself. “You could always set me free.” 

Mahanon struggled to rise. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Not around the shem and certainly not in his clothes. The other man came to his aid, and Mahanon lifted his lips in distaste. The man just held up his hands. 

“I won’t hurt you. I only want to help you up.” 

Mahanon thought about it. His mind was dizzy and clouded with sleep, his hands numb from being held behind him too long, he was sore places he didn’t know he had, and he hated struggling in front of anyone. Least of all his new  _master_. He inclined his head and the man helped him sit up, looking around the room. 

“Dorian where are the keys to these things?” 

The name was exactly as foppish as Mahanon had expected a pampered brat with a mustache like that to be. He did find the key, tossing them to his friend who moved to unlock the manacles. His eyes were…surprisingly kind. 

“My name is Felix. What is yours?” 

Mahanon just stared at him. He removed the manacles and Mahanon bit back the noise that rose in throat at the relief. He planted his feet on the rug, enjoying the feel of it. It was easier to focus on the softness of it, easier than trying to figure out how to navigate this new situation. His eyes strayed up to Dorian’s, who flicked his away. Felix cleared his throat. 

“You must be hungry.” 

He nodded. His eyes were still fixed on Dorian though. He had saved him.  _For what? What now?_  Felix caught his stare. Dorian did too, but he was purposely staring at a spot by the window. Gone was the man who had stood up to his father in the courtyard. Here stood someone who looked…lost. Then, the puffed up peacock who had yelled at him the night before was back. 

“I can’t free you.” 

Felix pinched the bridge of his nose. Mahanon clenched his jaw. 

“I wasn’t counting on it.” 

“You’d only be killed or captured again.” 

He snorted. “Oh so it’s for  _my_  benefit.” 

Dorian held up his finger. “You being here was not my idea.” 

“Then let me leave!” 

Mahanon clenched his fists. He should not be yelling at this man, demanding his freedom. He was dangerous. Dorian let out of string of curses in Tevene. Felix said something to him in the same tongue, sounding stern. Dorian seemed almost chastised. He turned to Mahanon. 

“You won’t believe me but I don’t want you to die. There is no safe way out of Tevinter for you or for me. Not at the moment.” He glared at Felix but went on. “That being said perhaps we can revisit the subject when I have more freedom. For now, I must ask you to endure.” 

He wanted to believe him. He just couldn’t. He did unclench his hands, looking down at them. He tried to keep the anger out of his voice but he was unsuccessful. 

“As your  _slave_.” 

Dorian sighed. “Yes.” 

For a moment, Mahanon considered the note of resignation in his voice. He looked up, their eyes meeting again. The man’s facade had slipped once more. 

“What would you have of me?” 

Dorian tilted his head. “I have not the faintest idea.” 

Mahanon felt his lips twitch without his permission. Felix snorted. 

“You could always use a bodyguard.” 

They both turned to look at the man in unison. Felix shrugged. 

“We know he can take care of himself in a fight. The way you’ve been making friends lately you could use someone watching your back.” 

“You want me to give the elf who just tried to throttle me a weapon?” Dorian turned to Mahanon, stroking his chin. “It  _will_  cause my father to shit his small clothes.” 

Mahanon narrowed his eyes. “You would trust me to protect you?” 

“Trust you? No. But if you kill me you greatly reduce your chances of ever seeing your home again.” 

He mulled it over. It was the best offer he’d gotten so far. He would certainly feel much better with weapons in hand again. 

“I won’t call you master.” 

“You may have to at times, at least in front of my father. But otherwise…you may call me Dorian.” 

Mahanon nodded. “They call me Lavellan.” 

“They? Does that mean it’s not your real name?” 

Dorian sounded like he was teasing him. Mahanon snorted. 

“ _You_  may call me Lavellan.” 

Dorian chuckled before tossing Mahanon an apple, which he bit into eagerly. Felix cleared his throat and went to the door. 

“With that settled, I shall take my leave. Come to me if he treats you poorly Lavellan.” 

Mahanon watched him go, lips twitching again. He liked Felix at least, reluctantly. He and Dorian were left in awkward silence as Mahanon chewed. He turned to find Dorian watching him with curiosity. He raised an eyebrow in question but Dorian only shook his head. 

“Now we need to get you clothes and a bed of your own. Oh, and one last thing.” He took a deep breath, seeming to brace himself. “I will  _never_  lay finger on you. Not while you’re under my protection.” 

Mahanon hadn’t realized how badly he had needed to hear those words until Dorian uttered them. He swallowed and nodded. He was a long way from trusting Dorian, but for the moment, he found himself willing to believe he was a good man. They had to start somewhere. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Mahanon is at last catching a break. And not to give away too much of my story but I'm serious about what Dorian says to him there won't be any sex between them while Mahanon is a slave for my own sanity's sake.


	7. My Heart's in Atrophy

_Just a little rush, babe_

_To feel dizzy, to derail the mind of me_

_Just a little hush, babe_

_Our veins are busy but my heart's in atrophy_

_Any way to distract and sedate_

_Adding shadows to the walls of the cave_

_You and I nursing on a poison that never stung_

_Our teeth and lungs are lined with the scum of it_

_Somewhere for this, death and guns_

_We are deaf, we are numb_

_Free and young and we can feel none of it_ \- Hozier, "Sedated"

 

Whatever reservations Dorian had about making Lavellan his bodyguard vanished when his father’s face actually turned purple when they returned from the market with a new set of armor and daggers for the elf. The man didn’t talk to him for three days after that. It helped that being armed to the teeth was a good look on the elf. He squashed that train of thought in its tracks. He really had started losing his mind since the moment they’d met.

A tentative routine developed in the days following the incident. Dorian would wake, proceed with his usual morning ritual, then meet with Lavellan who spent his mornings sparring on Dorian’s orders. The elf would then accompany him to Alexius’ or into the city proper. When they returned to the manor Lavellan would either go straight to bed, depending on how late they had stayed at Alexius’, or have supper with the other slaves. They didn’t speak much. Dorian tried but the elf was either maddeningly taciturn or half a step away from hostile.

Dorian threw himself once more into his research with his mentor. It kept his mind off his impending wedding. A year. He had a year left. Because of the dread curdling his stomach he spent his free time drinking heavily. Felix tried to help but he was called away from Minrathous for his own studies. Mae had yet to return from an extended to trip to the Silent Plains. He was alone with a father who could barely deign to look at him, a shell of a mother, and a slave who he was convinced had only stayed his hand because he thought Dorian could free him.

Something he didn’t even know himself. It was going to be a long summer.

~~

Mahanon decided to take the days in small pieces. If he didn’t he might lose it and see how many Vints he could take with him before they cut him down. The mornings were the best when he could spar in the courtyard. He wasn’t always alone, the two elves who guarded Magister Halward would fight with each other. He was afraid of how they’d react to him. They only ignored him, and he ignored them in turn. Choosing to concentrate on building up his body again.

Dorian wasn’t so bad. Mahanon was bored to tears the days they went to his mentor’s home. Felix’s father ignored his presence entirely, like the other slaves in his service. They spent most of their days reading, discussing matters at length in Tevene, or practicing spells. He had no inherent fear of magic but for some reason these spells made his ears hum and sent shivers down his spine. He avoided the study those days.

He rebuffed all of Dorian’s attempts at speaking to him directly. Mahanon still didn’t trust him. Not to free him, not to use him. If not his body then in some way, he was certain of it. It was aggravating waiting for the other shoe to drop, but he had convinced himself at some point it would. Which was the day he would run. In the interim he did his best not to think of Harry, Sulahn, or his clan. He clung to the pain with desperate fingers, using it to drive him. Using it so he wouldn’t forget what he was working for. But if he kept them in his head too long despair threatened to overwhelm him, and that he couldn’t have.

Despite his intentions, he started to know Dorian anyways.

~~

Mahanon waited impatiently outside of some stranger’s house for Dorian. It had been a long day, and it was turning into an even longer night. His underused muscles were aching, and it was hot and muggy. His hair was getting too long, it itched under the sweat. Mahanon shifted from foot to foot, staring into the quiet night. He doubted he would ever be truly at ease in this country. His only company was the coachmen and family horse, both of whom had fallen asleep. At long last Dorian came stumbling out of the door. Actual stumbling. Mahanon caught him before he could fall, bracing the man’s arms as he straightened himself. The well-muscled flesh was flushed under his fingers, and his breath reeked of brandy. He smiled at Mahanon.

“There you are Lavellan.”

“Yes. In the exact same place I’ve been for the last four hours.”

 _You are too bold slave._ Dorian only laughed him off and Mahanon released him gratefully. He noted the man was spotting several new bruises on his neck as he climbed into the carriage. He did his best not to wonder at their source. Mahanon slapped the side so that the coachmen woke up with a start. He rolled his eyes before climbing in behind Dorian, who slumped against the window. Mahanon wondered how he’d went from smiling brightly to desperately unhappy in less than a minute.

“Dorian?”

The man turned to him slowly, despondent. “Lavellan.”

Mahanon tilted his head.

“What is it?”

The carriage started with a jerk and they were off. Dorian just pressed his head back to the window. Mahanon really didn’t understand it. The man had the world at his fingertips, yet this was the third night in a row since Felix had left he had drunk himself into a stupor. He was a series of walking contradictions. He seemed to love the work he did with Alexius, was constantly bragging about himself and his accomplishments, and seemed to be trying to convince Mahanon how amazing he was.

Yet here he was with what was obviously a deeply depressed man. Something like sympathy stirred in his chest and he forced it out. He mustn’t forget Dorian was his master, or that he was sleeping around on his betrothed. _Or that he saved your life_. He mentally growled at the voice in his head and stared out of the window himself. Then Dorian spoke softly.

“You’re Dalish. Is that the correct word?”

The words were slurred a bit but Mahanon knew he hadn’t misheard. His heart clenched but he nodded.

“Yes.”

“You have a clan.”

Mahanon bit back a growl. “Had.”

Dorian lifted his head. “For what it’s worth I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what to do with that. Probably because as much as Mahanon could pretend Dorian didn’t mean it, that it was the drink talking, he knew it was the truth. He cleared his throat.

“You almost sound sincere. I didn’t know you knew the meaning of the word.”

Dorian frowned at him for a moment, then smiled. “Are you sassing me Lavellan?”

His swallowed his smile. “Perhaps.”

“I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He sounded pleased rather than upset. Mahanon opened his mouth to try it again but the carriage stopped. Dorian looked out the window and anger immediately seeped back into his face.

“Fasta vass.”

Mahanon followed his gaze to see Dorian’s father waiting for them outside. He had managed to avoid him so far, and dread immediately slammed into his gut at the sight of the man. He didn’t know if Dorian caught his reaction or if he was just intuitive.

“Lavellan go to your quarters.”

He nodded and slipped out. Dorian stepped out and was immediately nose to nose with his father, gesturing. Their angry voices followed him around the corner as he headed for the slave wing. Mahanon found he didn’t like leaving Dorian behind to deal with his father alone. But he needed to pick his battles if he was going to get out of this with his head still attached to his neck. Only he was stopped by Henley stepping out of the shadows, eyes glinting in the moonlight. Sword drawn. So far, Mahanon had been utterly ignored by the other slaves besides Athras. A state he much preferred to being ambushed.

“You broke my nose. You could have gotten us all killed.”

Henley stepped forward, making Mahanon step back as he reached for his daggers. Only to have his arms pinioned by Maurice, the other half of Magister Halward’s guard duo. Mahanon let his lips curl up.

“I’d say the nose is an improvement.”

The sword flicked up to his neck, the tip barely pressing against his throat. Mahanon realized he should be more afraid, but the sheer number of times his life had been threatened of late made it hard to care.

“Just because you suck the Master’s prick doesn’t mean I won’t cut your tongue out. See if he keeps you then.”

“Oh don’t tease me sweetheart, stick it in if you know how.”

Henley snarled, drawing a thing line of blood across his throat. When it didn’t get the reaction he wanted he drew back. Mahanon assumed he was going to hit him; he never gave Henley the opportunity. He rocked his head back into Maurice and marveled at the fact the idiot hadn’t learned from Henley’s mistake. He got one arm free while the bigger elf cursed. Mahanon briefly flirted with drawing his dagger, but he had just enough presence of mind to know he couldn’t kill them. So he drove his elbow into Maurice’s gut and ducked when Henley swung his sword. He was aiming to kill. Maurice let go of his arm Mahanon danced away, keeping the pillar between him and Henley.

The odd thought that Henley’s eyes were the same color as shiny pond scum crossed his mind as the other elf came after him. He never thought he’d be grateful to hear Magister Halward’s voice.

“Have the three of you taken leave of your senses?”

Henley, his actions born on years of training, dropped his sword and turned his head. Maurice had a similar reaction, moving into a ramrod-straight position as the magister moved towards them. Mahanon made the mistake of keeping his eyes on them.

“Lavellan!”

He turned, heat still hammering from the fight. He forgot to bow his head and Halward backhanded him, hard enough for his head to rock back and to bite his tongue. He swallowed the copper taste of blood with his hatred and kept his eyes on the ground.

“Henley what is going on here?”

The man spoke evenly, know trace of emotion. “He attacked us Master. He is quite mad.”

 _Jumped up thin-blooded flat-eared son of a whore_. Magister Halward grabbed his chin, forcing his eyes up. His neck stung with sweat, the blood on his throat cracking from where it dried.

“He attacked you? Without drawing his weapons?”

That was Athras’ quiet voice behind him. Mahanon held his breath, carefully avoiding the magister’s eyes. He released Mahanon, waving his hand dismissively.

“No food or water for three days for all three of them. Half-rations for Lavellan after that until I say otherwise. I want them confined to the slave wing. Another such incident will be a minimum of ten lashes as punishment.”

Mahanon exhaled sharply, hand going to his throat. Athras cast an appraising glance over him before he followed his master. Henley and Maurice were not far behind, though they took the chance to cast twin menacing glares at Mahanon. He forced a mirthless smile, flashing his teeth. Then he forced himself back to his room, wishing he could bolt the door. He knew he was going to be sleeping with one eye open for the time being.

~~

Once again, Dorian woke up and immediately vowed never to drink another drop. He rolled out of bed to go wretch in the privy. Brushing his teeth and shaving were an ordeal. He triumphed, skipping breakfast to go downstairs and meet Lavellan. He was not quite hungover enough to forget their limited conversation last night. He added that to his mental list of victories for the day, pointedly ignoring how pathetically small that particular list was. It was still early.

Lavellan wasn’t waiting for him. Dorian waited in the gardens, watching his mother’s pet peacocks meander around aimlessly. One, snowy-white, squawked at him, making him cringe and fight the urge to go back to bed and bury his head in a pillow. The bells marking the blasted time sounded and he groaned. Belatedly he realized Lavellan was late. The slave in charge of scattering seed for the peacocks, a new girl whose name escaped him, glanced his way and bowed her head.

“Master Dorian.”

“Have you seen Lavellan?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes on the paved path at her feet. “He has been confined to the slave wing on your father’s orders Master.”

“Do you know the cause?”

“I am afraid I do not. I apologize.”

He waved his hand dismissively and turned from her. Then he stopped himself, glancing back.

“What is your name?”

She blanched but otherwise kept her voice study. That twisted something in him, though he refused to think on it with his head throbbing.

“Viola.”

He nodded. “Thank you Viola.”

He went to find Lavellan. His instinct told him, as little as he knew about the elf, that he was clever. More than that he seemed a survivor. Unlike Dorian, he wouldn’t purposely aggravate their Magister Pavus. Even with that knowledge he was caught off-guard when he entered the slave wing and found Henley holding Lavellan by the throat against the wall. His bodyguard made no move to defend himself, though his eyes were hard and his mouth twisted into an ugly snarl. He coughed lightly, leaning against the doorframe. Henley turned and stepped away as if Lavellan had suddenly turned electric.

“Master Dorian I-”

“Let me guess, this is how elves like to greet each other. Some savage custom to ward of evil spirits in friends.”

Not his best line he knew. His wit had fled from the brandy the night before, and had yet to return. Henley just kept his eyes on the floor. Mahanon didn’t turn, didn’t even move off the wall. Just clenched his jaw and fists.

“Henley should I walk in on such a scene again, you will see what a kitten my father is next to me. Leave.”

He sounded like his father. That thought alone made him cringe. He had never had to directly punish a slave before, or even wanted too. But he would not let Lavellan be harassed by both his father and the other slaves. This was his home, despite how little that word meant Dorian wanted him safe here if nowhere else. You’re _not even safe here_. He shook of the wayward thoughts as Henley left. Lavellan swallowed thickly but still didn’t speak. Dorian raised his eyebrows.

“You are really awful at making friends, aren’t you?”

The elf’s bitter snort was his only response. Dorian felt disappointment squeeze his heart in a vise. _One step forward, twenty back and off a cliff._

“I shall speak to my father. Whatever is going on-”

“No.”

Lavellan growled out the word, turning to Dorian. Then he seemed to correct himself and bowed his head. He saw the cut on the elf’s throat for the first time, and clenched his own jaw.

“I told you. You are under my protection. Let me h-”

“I don’t need any favors from you.” He spat on the word you, before looking up. “I can take care of myself.”

Dorian laughed darkly. “Yes, clearly you are doing an excellent job of that.”

Lavellan turned his head. “Magister Halward says I’m not to accompany you.”

“Last I checked you belonged to me and not him.”

He regretted the words instantly. The elf flinched.

“Vishante kaffas. I only meant…”

The elf just stood before him, rigid and seething with anger. Dorian felt himself growing angry in turn, though over what he didn’t know.

“Forget what I meant. Return to your punishment if that’s what you want.”

He snapped the words before turning on his heel. It was foolish to get this worked up over the good opinion of a slave. He must be desperate for friends if he was chasing his own bodyguard down. The tangled knot of emotions was not doing his headache any services. He passed Athras on the way back to the courtyard, and the older elf paused.

“Master Dorian may I have a word with you?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Athras glanced in Lavellan’s direction.

“I know you mean well where the Dalish is concerned, but perhaps you should let him be a slave and you the master.”

Dorian frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t catch your meaning Athras.”

The old elf gave him a half-smile. “This is not my place, but I think it is for the best you hear it now. Men like him don’t do well as slaves. He wasn’t born to it, nor does he have the temper for it.”

“Because he is Dalish?”

Athras shook his head. “Because he would sooner break than be bent. He will die before bowing to any master, even you. I would not get too attached.”

Dorian worked his jaw, not sure what to do with this information. Athras bowed.

“Apologies, I know it is out of line for me to say such. I may be wrong about him.”

He figured they both knew he wasn’t. That wasn’t the problem in Dorian’s eyes.

“Thank you Athras. I shall think on it.”

He wondered if it was too early to start drinking as he left the slave wing. The morning was already heating up, dragging him into lethargy. Alexius didn’t need him for the day. His friends were gone. Dorian was torn between sleeping or finding trouble to keep his mind off any number of things. A growing portion of which seemed to be Lavellan. Shaking his head he ordered the carriage, choosing escape. He was good at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to yesterday's chapter was amazing so here's another one. I also wanted to throw some love towards my beta TheFaye92 and the short story she did of my Mahanon and Dorian called "Autumn's Verse." Thank you guys for the support!


	8. A Man Might Befriend a Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for homophobia-induced violence.

_“A man might befriend a wolf, even break a wolf, but no man could truly_ tame _a wolf.”_ -George R.R. Martin

Mahanon could deal with hunger. He’d gone hungry before on game trails, or harsher winters with the clan. What was harder to cope with was the utter alienation. The other elves wouldn’t speak or look at him. The most reaction he got to his presence was a rough bump to the shoulder as they passed him in the hall. It was lonely this side of their ire. Then there was the insidious fear that he’d driven Dorian off for good. The man didn’t come home after their fight in the hall. The first two days of his punishment passed with chores and a growing hollowness in his gut, the hunger and heat making it hard even to scrub the floors Athras assigned him. 

It was petty, but Mahanon relished the sight of Henley and Maurice scrubbing floors with him, equally as hungry. At least he did until he came back from retrieving a new rag, only to find wine conveniently spilled over his half of the hall. Both elves were barely hiding they’re pleased smirks, going back to scrubbing the floor. Mahanon cursed and dropped to his knees to start over, wiping sweat off his brow. Athras walked in, cast an appraising eye over the situation, and left again. 

Afterwards Mahanon was staring at a pail of water in the courtyard, watching the other slaves drink from it with jealousy. He swallowed uselessly, mouth unbearably dry. Athras appeared at his elbow, tilting his head. 

“You could always attempt to drink when no one is looking.” 

Mahanon snorted. “I am fairly certain the walls have eyes.” 

The old elf smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. “You wouldn’t be wrong.” 

They sat in awkward silence. Mahanon realized he was thirsty for more than just water. He was lonely. Homesick. Athras seemed to sense what was on his mind. 

“They fear you.” 

Mahanon gave him a sideways glance. “I never wanted to hurt them.” 

“But you would have. Had Master Dorian died, Master Halward may have had us all killed. It is the law.” 

He felt the floor drop out from under him. “What?” 

Athras nodded. “If one slave raises a hand against his master, the whole household may be killed. It quells rebellion.” 

A myriad of emotions twisted together inside of Mahanon, self-loathing and hatred chief amongst them. He realized that was the cleverness of their oppressors. They put the lives of their fellow slaves in each other’s hands. Insubordination would not just cost your own life, but those of the only people you may call friend. The knowledge sickened him. 

“Hahren I-” He shook his head. “I didn’t want to kill him. Or doom them.” 

The other elf raised an eyebrow. “Hahren?” 

“It means…it doesn’t matter. Did you have another assignment for me?” 

Athras shook his head. “You should rest during the heat. Don’t forget to turn your mattress over. The straw settles.” 

Mahanon found the comment odd but he did go back to his quarters. He lifted the mattress to turn it over, only to find an apple, cheese, and the flatbread Vint’s favored. He ate them quickly, even consuming the apple core. It was only after, when he lay down on the mattress and his stomach hurt from eating too fast, that he considered it may not have been wise to accept the food. He was lonely, certainly, but even friendship between fellow slaves could prove hazardous to his health. He slipped into an uneasy sleep. 

Hours later, the heat only growing heavier and more insistent, Mahanon woke to hear steps in the hall. His door flew open to reveal the Lady Pavus and Magister Halward. He sat up, neck pricking. The man looked troubled. Dorian’s mother snapped her fingers at him. 

“Slave when was the last time you saw my son?” 

Mahanon frowned. “Yesterday morning.” 

“Why are you not with him?” 

“I am being punished.” 

She snorted and the gesture reminded him exactly of Dorian. Magister Halward looked directly at him and Mahanon found he liked that even less than when the magister acted like he was a piece of the furniture. 

“Grab your weapons and search for him. Can you sit a horse?” At Mahanon’s nod he turned. “There is one waiting by the stables. If any harm has come to my son, I place the blame on his bodyguard.” 

Mahanon really didn’t expect any less. He forewent the armor, only grabbed his daggers and left quickly. 

~~

Dorian stumbled out of the tavern, intending on going home. If he could find it. He laughed to himself, staring blearily at the street. He needed a bed. He needed to avoid the five men heading his way. 

“Isn’t that Pavus?” 

“The bugger?” 

He wasn’t quite drunk enough not to recognize the danger. He was slow though, letting himself get boxed in. He didn’t recognize any of them. He supposed it didn’t matter. He did see the glint of the House Aurum birthright, but that was as far as his addled brain got before he was fully surrounded. 

“Come now Dorian we just want to chat.” 

He decided to play up his drunkenness as he was unarmed. “Is that so? Well we’ve chatted. I’ll be on my merry way now.”

“More pillow-biting to do?” 

That was the arse with the birthright. Dorian did recognize him then. Laurence Aurum. He smiled, figuring he had already fucked himself over. 

“I must say you’re not really my type but you’re welcome to join.” 

They attacked then. Dorian was rather unsteady on his feet, but he still managed to catch their robes on fire. Enough to punch a hole to run through. His wards worked well enough, for a time. But Aurum wasn’t the only altus in the group, and he was outnumbered. Dorian was caught in a paralysis spell. Laurence caught up with him first, grabbing the front of his robes in his fist. 

“Fucking poof!” 

With blasé he did not feel Dorian rolled his eyes. “If all of your wit is centered around who I sleep with it is little wonder your mother left for Antiva when you were born.” 

Dorian lashed out with an uncontrolled blast of magic as he spoke but Laurence nullified it. Then smashed his fist into Dorian’s jaw. His friends joined them, and he was lost under a rain of blows and slurs. Everything got sort of blurry when he was kicked in the head. Then the men stopped attacking all at once; a new voice entered the din, guttural and angry . _Is that elvish?_ He raised his head from under his arms, and didn’t believe what he saw. Lavellan, in the middle of the pack, face a fierce scowl as he lashed out with hid daggers. Whether the blood was his or theirs he couldn’t be sure. 

It took Dorian too long to realize he needed help, though the pack was down to Laurence and two others. Since he was fairly certain he wasn’t dying and that Lavellan needed help, he summoned up another couple of fireballs. It was enough for Lavellan to gain the advantage, driving his dagger into Laurence’s leg as the man ran off. He walked over to Dorian, kneeling next to him. Dorian didn’t think he’d ever seen a sight as beautiful as this wild, bloody elf with his wolf’s eyes and savage tattoos. 

“You look like shit.” 

Dorian laughed even though it hurt. “Feel like it too.” 

“Can you stand?” 

Dorian nodded and Lavellan offered his hand. He took it, staring in wonder at the elf. He helped Dorian to his feet, wrapping one of Dorian’s arms around his shoulders. He was surprisingly strong for being near-emaciated. 

“Alexius’ is not far from here.” 

Lavellan nodded and grabbed the reigns of his horse with his free hand. “Do you want to ride?” 

“Not sure I am able to be perfectly honest.” 

His voice came out breathier than he intended. Lavellan gave him a sideways glance. Dorian looked away. What had just happened was starting to sink in. He began to shake despite himself. Lavellan was like a furnace, and the night was was still warm, but he was shivering. He took a deep breath and Lavellan gave him a squeeze. The slight show of affection was too much. Next he knew he was on the ground, the elf kneeling in front of him as he shook. 

“Dorian? It’s alright. You’re safe with me. It’s going to be alright.” 

There was a part of him that wished Lavellan would just leave him there. Maybe someone would come along and finish the job. Then the elf did something wholly unexpected, reaching forward and rubbing his arms. 

“Breathe man. It’s over.” 

Dorian did as instructed. It hurt, his ribs, belly, and back had borne the brunt of the assault. But it helped, as did Lavellan’s calm presence. He shuddered and then stilled under the man’s hands. Lavellan ran gentle fingers over Dorian’s face and head, probing the damage. He found he was unable to look the man in the eye. 

“Maker knows what you must think of me now.” 

Lavellan’s lips twitched. Dorian was starting to realize he was hiding a smile when he did that. He held out his hand again. 

“I think you need to get your head wound examined.” 

This time Dorian took it, muscles starting to ache with their recent assault. He was beginning to feel rather exhausted. Then he realized Lavellan shouldn’t be here. 

“Weren’t you confined to the slave wing?” 

The elf snorted. “I was. Your father noticed your absence.” 

“How kind of him to send a man he hates.” 

“Well you see it’s my fault you were assaulted.” Lavellan said dryly. 

Dorian sighed. “I see.” 

He was disappointed without really knowing why. Lavellan gave him that analytical glance again. 

“Why did they attack you? I couldn’t make it out in this barbaric language of yours.” 

Dorian shook his head. “I am a pariah. In more ways this one.” 

“Felix wasn’t exaggerating.” 

“No, he was not.” 

They finally made it to Alexius’. Both of them were sweaty and covered in blood. Lavellan reached forward and knocked. Dorian leaned on him a bit more heavily. He found that whatever the reason he was there, he was glad for the elf’s presence. 

~~

As it turned out, Alexius wasn’t home. His slaves were though. Luckily they knew Dorian was always welcome. Mahanon helped Dorian limp over to a couch, sending Orin, the only one awake, to fetch stuff for their wounds. He covered the couch with the clean sheet Orin brought and sent the poor man to his bed. Dorian had sunk heavily into the cushions by the time Mahanon got around to cleaning his wounds. He started with the kick to the temple Dorian had taken, the result bruises and a gash that was still trickling blood down the side of his face. Along with another cut on the apple of his cheek. The mage had closed his eyes but they snapped open when Mahanon applied the rag. 

“Ow!”  

He rolled his eyes. “We haven’t even gotten to the worst part yet.” 

“What’s the worst part? You jab needles into my…you’re going to jab needles into me, aren’t you?” 

Mahanon grinned. “Unless you know another way to sew up wounds.” 

“Don’t smile. It makes me think I’m dying. Do you even know how to do that?” 

“Your father really did buy me just for my looks, didn’t he?” He reapplied the cloth, wiping away the blood. 

Dorian winced. “You’re joking and smiling. Stop it.” 

He laughed lightly. Dorian only narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Mahanon readjusted, ignoring the burn on his arm as he continued to wipe the blood away. Then he thought about why they were there as he ground the poultice together for Dorian’s face. 

“I noticed you didn’t answer my question earlier.” 

“I knew there was something clever about you.” Dorian murmured the words, sleepily. 

Mahanon applied the poultice, forcing Dorian awake with a wince. He snorted as the man cursed. 

“Fasta vass. Torturing me won’t make me talk Lavellan.”

Mahanon’s tongue tripped over the word the Vints had kept shouting. Dorian’s face crumpled though, and he turned his head. His jaw worked and then he sighed. 

“If you must know I prefer the company of men.” 

“The company of men?” 

He hit a tender spot and Dorian hissed. “Did I stutter? I prefer the company of men. As in sex. Surely you’ve heard of it? Are you quite finished yet?” 

Mahanon just made him turn his head again. “Robes off I want to look at the rest of you before I patch up your face. And I’ve done it actually.” 

“The bathhouse slave? I am shocked and scandalized.” 

Dorian pulled open his robe with more wincing. Mahanon couldn’t even pretend to be offended. He was already learning half of the shit that came out of Dorian’s mouth was hot air when he was upset. He did feel heat creep up his neck at the sight of Dorian though. The man was well-made, he would have had to have been blind not to notice it. He was also mottled with bruises, beaten with a savagery that made Mahanon bite back a growl. 

“I was there for a day. I mean _before_.” He met Dorian’s eyes and looked away, trying to probe his skin while touching as little of him as possible. “Is that a big concern here?” 

Dorian cleared his throat. “Only if you’re trying to live up to an impossible standard. Every Tevinter family is intermarrying to distill the perfect mage, perfect body, perfect mind. The perfect leader. It means ever perceived flaw, every aberration, is deviant and shameful. It must be hidden.” 

Mahanon’s hands stilled, one on Dorian’s shoulder, one gently on the bruises skating up his ribs. Several pieces clicked into place at once. Like Dorian’s spiral down into the depths of every bottle of brandy he could get his hands on. The loneliness Mahanon sensed in him that so echoed his own. He realized he was still holding onto Dorian and removed his hands. 

“I don’t think anything is broken.” 

The mage only nodded, just staring at him. Waiting for his reaction he guessed. Mahanon threaded the needle for the stitched, holding the end out to Dorian. 

“Heat the tip of that.” 

Dorian held out his hand, still quiet. He looked exhausted. He called the fire, the light dancing in his eyes and over his cheekbones. Mahanon stuck the needle in, chewing his lip. 

“Is that why you’re marrying a woman?” 

Dorian blinked. “Well…I wasn’t going to.” 

“What changed?” 

He pulled the needle out, focusing on the orange tip. Dorian extinguished the flame by clenching his fist, a little tendril of smoke curling out of his hands. He almost whispered the word that made Mahanon’s stomach flip-flop. 

“You.” 

Mahanon swallowed. “Me?” 

Dorian nodded. “It was let him sell you or…” 

“Oh.” 

He bowed his head a bit. He hadn’t known, or cared, about what Dorian was going through. That he was going through anything at all. Dorian was watching him again. Mahanon held up the needle. 

“No crying when I stick this in you.” 

“Here’s an idea. Keep that blasted needle far away from me.” 

Mahanon flashed his teeth, aiming for wicked. “But Master Dorian I’m a savage. This is what we do.” 

“Do us both a favor and never call me master again.” 

He chuckled and cupped Dorian’s chin. “Whatever you say. Master.” 

Dorian mumbled something in Tevene that got louder when Mahanon stuck the needle in. He did his best not to grin under the tirade, sewing the mage up before putting him to bed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. I know. I'm awful. This was planned but it makes me nervous to post anyways. Also not an expert on homophobic slurs, looking that up was almost as bad as the slavery justification stuff. But hey Mahanon and Dorian have stopped yelling at each other. Anywho thank you guys for the continued support. And more thanks to The Faye92 for continuing her beta.


	9. To Protect Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning for homophobic language.

_“That was my first instinct -- to protect him. It never occurred to me that there was a greater need to protect myself.”_ -Graham Greene

 

When Dorian woke, his head was pounding and Lavellan was nowhere in sight. He panicked, the night before coming back in bits and pieces. He sat up and realized he was in a bed.  _Alexius’ guest room._ Everything hurt. He pulled the blanket off and looked down. His body was a mess. It was hard to tell where the bruises ended and his skin began. He decided to avoid looking glasses until he found a good healer. Suddenly, getting out of bed sounded very unappealing. As the thought crossed his mind the door opened and Lavellan entered, carrying a tray of food. The days-old bruises blossoming across his jaw were turning green, and he was frowning. Dorian caught the white bandage winding up his arm from under his sleeve as he set the tray down. 

“You were hurt.” 

Lavellan just shrugged. He felt that sense of disappointment again. Apparently their forced intimacy from the night before was not going to carry over in the light of day. He swallowed and looked at the food, having zero appetite. He tilted it towards Lavellan. 

“You may have it if you wish.” 

“You should eat. Drink something besides brandy.” 

Dorian jerked his head up too fast, wincing. That was clearly amusement on the elf’s face, he was certain of it. 

“Be honest with me Lavellan. How do I look?” 

The elf’s teeth flashed. “Terrible.” 

“My wounded pride.” 

“Can’t hurt as badly as your face.” Lavellan kept smiling and sat down in a chair by the bed, holding himself stiffly. 

Dorian huffed. “I think I liked you better when all you did was glower at me.” 

“You know if you don’t want to speak because of the pain, I would understand.” 

He threw a pear at the elf. He caught it with his right hand.The bandages were on his left. Dorian thought he recalled that being his strong hand. Lavellan just held the pear in his palm. He could have sworn he heard the man’s stomach growl. 

“You have seen a pear before no? I assure you it’s not poisonous. Unless, you poisoned the food.”  

“Yes I went through all of that effort to save you just to kill you now.” Lavellan frowned at his hand. “I’m not supposed to eat until tomorrow.” 

Dorian tilted his head. “Why ever not? What happened?” 

Lavellan bit his lip. “Henley and Maurice ambushed me. Your father and Athras found us. No food and water for three days, half-rations for me after that.” 

Dorian let his eyes skate over the elf. His shirt was too big, the breeches and boots he wore clinging to too-skinny legs. He knew elves tended to run small, but it was too much. 

“Well I care for what my father ordered about as much as I care for scorpions in my small-clothes.” 

The elf cracked another smile and Dorian felt his heart skip a beat.  _Stop it you_. 

“Have you had scorpions in your small clothes?” 

“Hush and eat the fruit.” 

Lavellan still stared at it, hesitating. Dorian was wondering what else he could do to earn the man’s trust. He set the tray aside, Lavellan turning that suspicious glance on him. 

“Hold out your arm.” The elf raised an eyebrow and Dorian rolled his eyes. “Just do it.” 

He did and Dorian rolled up his sleeve. He unwound the bandage, feeling Lavellan tense under his hand. He wished he could wonder at the cause of the man’s mistrust. It made him angry seeing the weeping, blistered skin running from forearm almost to chest. 

“You stubborn fool you didn’t say a word.” He didn’t mean to sound so accusatory. 

Lavellan snorted, voice quiet. “Yours were worse.” 

Dorian grunted, keeping his eyes firmly on the arm and refusing to meet the elf’s eyes. He cast his cooling spell. He was shit at healing, but a burn he could treat. His guess was Lavellan had been at the wrong end of a shocking spell. 

“This would have been far more effective if you had told me about it last night.” 

“Yeah well I was preoccupied.” Lavellan let out a small sigh that made Dorian have to fight a smile. 

It helped. The skin around the blisters wasn’t as red and swelling went down. It was worth it when he looked at the elf’s face. Those damned eyes had softened considerably. Dorian was all too aware of the warm and smooth flesh under his hand, the pulse point at Lavellan’s wrist beating strongly in his grip. He released him. The elf’s intense gaze followed him. Finally he lifted the pear to his lips and Dorian smiled. Lavellan ignored him in favor of the fruit. When he’d finished it Dorian handed him the rest of the tray. The elf wiped his mouth, far more relaxed than he’d been since they’d met. 

“This doesn’t mean I trust you.” 

“Certainly not.” 

“I’m just hungry.” 

Dorian snorted and lay back on the pillows. He decided not to think about the night before, or telling his father later in the day. He just focused on Lavellan and his satiated smile as he polished off the food. 

~~

Dorian had, naturally, let the coachman leave him once he’d gotten to the tavern. So he and Mahanon had to borrow a horse from Alexius and ride back together. Dorian looked worse in the sunlight. It was easier to be around him after the night before. He was still mulling over the implications of what Dorian had done for him. He didn’t know what to make of it. It did make him wish he’d been able to do more damage to the man’s attackers. They rode back to the manor quickly. Even though Dorian had sent a missive that morning, Mahanon knew whatever happened next wasn’t going to be pretty. 

It still should have surprised him more when the second they entered the gates, he was dragged off his horse by Maurice and Henley.  _Because who else?_  He fought them as Dorian dismounted. 

“What is the meaning of this?” 

Henley kicked Mahanon in the back of his leg, making his knee buckle. He elbowed him in the gut in return. 

“Your father ordered us to bring Lavellan straight to him.” 

“Enough!” 

Dorian’s eyes flashed dangerously. He certainly looked more threatening with his face stitched up. Henley and Maurice froze, Mahanon didn’t, slipping out of their hands. He stepped out of their joint reach, returning their twin glares. Dorian positioned himself in between them, hand out to Mahanon. 

“Lavellan disarm.” 

He didn’t move his eyes from the two thugs. He clenched his jaw as Dorian waited. When he did glance back he could see the mage was calm. He realized this was the moment. He either trusted Dorian to protect him, or he refused and the man wouldn’t have a choice in what happened to him. Exhaling slowing he reached back and disarmed, handing the daggers over to Henley. 

“Now then the two of you go on ahead. I’m assuming my father is in his study yes?” 

“Yes Master.” Henley still managed to shoot Mahanon a look of pure malice even though he bowed his head. 

Dorian just clapped his hands. Mahanon was sure he was the only one who caught the accompanying wince. 

“Excellent. We shall be right behind you.” 

They both turned dutifully and went. Dorian clasped a hand to his ribs. 

“Vishante kaffas.” 

Mahanon was still watching the other elves leave. Dorian snapped his fingers in front of his eyes. 

“Yes if you could stop antagonizing everyone besides myself that would be wonderful.” 

He glanced sideways at the man. “Who says I’m done antagonizing you?” 

“I do. If you want to survive to see sunset I suggest you listen to me.” 

“Why? What did I do now?” 

Dorian straightened with a grunt. “They believe, my dear pointy-eared friend, that you attacked a nobleman without provocation.” 

Mahanon frowned at him and Dorian pointed towards the stables. A strange carriage was parked out there. 

“My guess is that my friends from last night told them. Magister Aurum is a close friend of my father’s you see.” 

He understood then. “That’s the symbol of that ugly amulet that man was wearing last night.” 

Dorian barked out a laugh and then flinched again. “Oh I do believe I am growing to enjoy your wit. Yes that precious little viper was Laurence Aurum.” 

“Want me to kill him?” 

“Stop making me laugh Lavellan.” Dorian did grin though, before his face grew somber. “I need you to hold your tongue and do whatever my father or I say. They’ll want blood for what happened last night, mark my words.” 

Mahanon frowned. “Mine or yours?” 

“Both if they can get it. You may have noticed I am not highly-regarded amongst my countrymen. I loathe blood magic, I believe trying to win a war with the Qunari is a laughable fantasy, and I prefer the company of men.” 

For some reason that made Mahanon laugh. Dorian raised an eyebrow at the noise. He just shook his head in response. He had managed to throw his lot in with the one gay Vint magister who hated blood magic. More than that, he was starting to like the man. He jerked his head. 

“Shall we?” 

Dorian nodded. For all of his bluster, now he appeared almost as vulnerable as he had the night before. Mahanon reached out before he could stop himself, brushing his two fingers over the other man’s arm briefly. 

“Whether I like it or not, we’re in this together.” 

The mage huffed out a laugh. “I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse.” 

Mahanon grinned despite the situation. He didn’t know either. 

~~

Dorian had lied. Lavellan’s presence did make him feel better as they entered his father’s study. Otherwise he would have been entirely alone with his father’s stern face and Magister and Laurence Aurum. Magister Aurum had the same stern expression as his father. His son was seething as soon as he saw Lavellan. While it was gratifying to see he had been slashed across his face, and bandages were visible through his shirt, Dorian had to wonder why he hadn’t been healed yet. He should have known better. 

“That fucking rabbit is going to burn!” 

He shouted it in Tevene but Lavellan stiffened out of the corner of his eye. Dorian moved reflexively in front of the elf. Magister Aurum just spoke quietly, appraising Dorian and Lavellan in the same glance. 

“Laurence compose yourself. Remember who you are.” 

Dorian’s father waved his hand. “Maurice, Henley, restrain Lavellan.” 

“Father I don’t believe that’s necessary.” 

“I do.” 

He clenched his jaw as they dragged Lavellan in front of him, forcing him to his knees. The elf restrained himself, if only just. Dorian’s pulse sped up. The man’s trust had been hard won, he could not forsake him now. Aurum eyed Lavellan with incredulity. 

“You let this little slip cause this much damage?” 

“His master was there as well.” 

Dorian snorted. “Oh we’re acknowledging my presence now are we?

“Dorian your glib tongue does you no credit.” 

“You’d be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me Father.” 

His father didn’t even blink. “Do you want to give us your account of what happened?” 

“Why do I feel as if I’m on trial?” Both magisters only narrowed their eyes so he rolled his. “Very well. I was walking home from the tavern, alone. Our dear Altus Laurence and his friends attacked me. I believe the reasoning was that I am a ‘fucking poof.’” Both men flinched. “Lavellan, as is his duty, found us and defended me. Whatever blood he shed is on my hands, as per our arrangement Father.” 

His father’s eyes were dark. He gave Dorian a long, appraising glance, and then inclined his head. 

“Henley escort Lavellan back to his quarters.” 

Dorian almost breathed a sigh of relief. The elf was as safe as Dorian could make him at the moment. Their eyes met as Henley walked him out. Lavellan’s lips twitched for a moment and Dorian felt his breath hitch. Then he turned back to deal with his father. 

~~

Mahanon paced his room. He was confined until sundown, Henley and Maurice stationed outside of his door. They didn’t give him his daggers back. He had only caught half of the conversation, and he was quite sure Dorian had mentioned something about blood. The exact moment he’d made up his mind to flop back on the mattress he heard Dorian’s voice. 

“Yes yes I’ll take those. You two may go. You have done a fine job holding up this wall.”  

He snorted and the door swung open. In walked Dorian, face healed and carrying a tray of food. Mahanon cocked his head. 

“Please tell me you didn’t cook that yourself.” 

“Me? Cook? Imagine the uproar that would cause. Riots in the streets, floods, it would be downright chaotic.” Dorian looked around the room. “This is horrendously austere.” 

Mahanon tried, and failed miserably, not to laugh. “You are aware I’m a slave?”

Dorian ducked his head and set the tray down on Mahanon’s small table. “Yes well…” 

He took the only chair. Mahanon bit his lip as Dorian actually pulled a napkin out of what he assumed was thin air and settled it in his lap, pointing the fork at him. 

“Soup’s on Lavellan.” 

“Hold on I want to remember the day you brought a tray of food to your slave.” 

He grabbed his plate and sat down on the bed, pressing his back to the wall. Tevinter food was still odd to him. A lot of rice and spicy sauces. But he had never been finicky. He was rather curious as to why Dorian had decided to bring him food though. 

“What happened?” 

Dorian sipped from his cup. “The usual. I am a disgrace to the Pavus name, I am to stop flaunting my perversions across the city, and for the time being I have no allowance.” 

He said it all so airily. Mahanon felt that odd twinge of sympathy in his gut.

"And Laurence?"

"Received a similar slap on the wrist. Us boys will be boys after all."

Mahanon swallowed his growl. He really did hate this blighted country. He knew if he hadn't shown up when he did, they would have done far worse to Dorian. 

“For what it’s worth…” 

Dorian waved him off. “Don’t. I’m alright.” 

“I was just going to say for what it’s worth, I think you’re a pompous, spoiled prat.” 

The mage turned to him with a smile. Mahanon returned it. Dorian cleared his throat and went back to his food. 

“So what’s their name?” 

Mahanon froze. “What?” 

“This beautiful man or woman you are so desperate to return home to. I am assuming there is one.” 

“Creators you have the tact and subtelty of a high dragon. 

Dorian chuckled. “Are they better looking than me?” 

“Yes.  _He_  is.” 

The mage promptly sputtered and choked on his food. Mahanon laughed and the conversation ended there. They passed the rest of the meal in silence. At last, Dorian gathered their empty plates. He seemed hesitant. Mahanon tilted his head. 

“What is it Pavus?” 

The side of Dorian’s mouth quirked. “I wanted to thank you for last night.” 

Mahanon shrugged one shoulder. “The part where I failed to protect you or the part where I stabbed you with a tiny needle until you fainted?” 

“I did  _not_  faint. Women faint. I blacked out in a most dignified fashion.” 

He snorted again. “I owed you one or two. Now we’re even.” 

“Even.” Dorian tilted his head. “I like the sound of that. Good evening Lavellan.” 

“Good night Dorian.” 

The mage left him to his own devices, daggers back on the table. Mahanon flopped back onto the mattress, throwing his uninjured arm over his eyes. 

He was asleep, dreaming of snakes and Sulahn when the first fires broke out on the docks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this effectively marks the end of part one in my head. We're going to start getting into the meat of the plot the next few chapters.


	10. The Chain That Binds You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really sure where a moment in this section falls on the trigger scale but it is creepy so going to put a warning in for sexual harassment.

_Strike from that laborer's limbs his chain!_

_In the fierce sun the iron burns!_

_By night, it fills his dreams with pain;_

_By day, it galls him as he turns._

 

_Yes; and your dreams it visits, too,_

_When Fear stands o'er your restless bed,_

_And shakes it in your ears, till you_

_Tremble, as at an earthquake's tread._

 

_Then break his chain, and let him go,_

_And, with the spirit of a man,_

_Earn his own bread; and you shall know_

_Peace, -- -- that you know not now, nor can_

 

_The chain, that binds to you your slave,_

_Binds you to him, with links so strong,_

_That you must wear them to your grave,_

_If all your days you do him wrong._

 

_Then, from his body and your soul,_

_Throw off the load, while yet you may;_

_Thus strive, in faith, for heaven's high goal,_

_And wait, in hope, the judgement day._ \- “Unchain the Laborer,” John Pierpont

 

Mahanon stayed at the edge of the ballroom as he was bidden, watching Dorian dance with Livia. Felix had his own betrothed laughing in a corner. The room was a sea of bright dresses and cloying perfumes. A kingdom’s worth of jewels adorned everyone, even the slaves. It was hard to remember that outside, Minrathous was burning.  It seemed to Mahanon the worst-kept secret in the city. A slave uprising had started two months before and the last dregs of the survivors had hidden. The lower sections of the city were being purged on the orders of the Magisterium. 

Dorian had had a hard time keeping Mahanon by his side through the summer. The stronger he had grown, the more comfortable with the language and the customs, the more intense the urge to run. There was a permanent ache in his chest these days from the need to either fight for his freedom or run. But Dorian had promised him, over and over, that he had a plan. He was going to leave Tevinter and take Mahanon with him. And Mahanon, ever the fool, had decided to believe him. 

Lost in thought, he nearly missed Harlan heading his way. Joana lived in infamy within the court. She was a former slave, earning her freedom the way she had offered Mahanon his. It helped she was an exceptionally powerful blood mage. Not that that had been confirmed. The rumors about her bathhouse turned his stomach. Much like Athras, Harlan had position because he belonged to her. A position he used to hound Mahanon when Dorian wasn’t looking. The elf walked around him, hands behind his back, unabashedly looking him up and down and licking his lips. 

“I am simply astounded at how well you’ve been tamed.” He stopped behind Mahanon, hand going to his hip as he bent forward to whisper in his ear. “I bet you won’t even bite me this time.” 

Mahanon scanned the room to see if anyone was watching, before stepping away from the man’s grip. They were behind a thick enough pillar no one could see. “Touch me again and lose the hand.” 

Harlan only chuckled, the sound as slithering into Mahanon’s ear. “Perhaps not so tame after all. A pity.” 

He clenched his jaw as Harlan stepped close again. His threat was empty, and they both knew it. Harlan had magic, and people would notice if Mahanon suddenly gutted him. Unless Dorian or Magister Halward interfered directly, there wasn’t much he could do without angering Joana. Dorian wouldn’t be able to save him then. Luckily, Dorian wasn’t his only friend here. He heard Felix’s voice, light and easy. 

“Lavellan I could use you for a moment.” 

Harlan turned and bowed. “Altus Felix.” 

“Harlan right?. Come along Lavellan.” 

Mahanon followed him gratefully, nearly shaking with the strength of his revulsion. He could feel Harlan’s black eyes on his neck as Felix led him out into the courtyard. He spoke more out of habit. 

“What would you have of me?”

Felix shook his head. “Nothing. You were looking a little cagey.” 

Mahanon gave him a half-smile. “Thank you.” 

“I take it you do not want his attentions?” 

Felix, as always, was calm. His eyes were soft. Mahanon sighed, and shook his head. 

“You should tell Dorian. He’ll put a stop to it. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Mahanon leaned against a pillar, tilting his head to the sky. The stars were hidden behind smoke. 

“It’s my battle to fight.” 

Felix eyed him. “What’s the real reason?” 

He bit his lip. Mahanon and not forgotten Lila or Taron. He had known them too briefly to call them friends, but the thought of anyone under Harlan’s slimy thumb made him sick. 

“I fear who he will take his anger out on. I can bear this if it means others won’t face worse.” 

Felix smiled sadly. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by his future wife. 

“Felix?” 

Madeline Lucis. She was both beautiful and every bit as sweet as Felix. Honey-colored eyes and night-black hair. From what Dorian had said, there was some measure of love between her and Felix. Unlike most of the marriages amongst the upper class, theirs might be a happy one. Mahanon was glad for the man. It was amazing such kind eyes survived here at all, let alone found a match. Madeline stepped out of the ballroom and into Felix’s waiting arms, planting a kiss on his cheek. Mahanon ducked his head, scratching his arm. He _was_ happy for Felix. But that ache where his heart used to be liked to make itself known during moments such as these. 

Dorian was not far behind, eyes bright and cheeks slightly flushed from the dancing. “Well I certainly didn’t mean to interrupt. Or I did. I’ve lost track of which.” 

Felix kept his eyes on Madeline’s. “Go away Dorian. Get your bodyguard some food.” 

“That I can do.” Dorian gestured with his hand, bowing a little. “Shall we?” 

Mahanon nodded gratefully. It was good to have Felix back. Dorian wasn’t drinking anywhere near as much. No one had decided to rearrange his face of late either. In fact, he and his father were almost getting along. Dorian pulled what he called a mango out of thin air. Mahanon had learned that was a favorite trick of his. 

“We’ll get you something more substantial in a moment. I want to show you something.” 

They were at House Aurum’s manor just outside of the city. Mahanon bit into the mango, enjoying the juice in the middle of the summer night. Dorian led him through the courtyards, around the ballroom, and into the gardens. They were said to be the most beautiful in Minrathous. Mahanon found it ridiculous at times, how the magisters, the most reviled class of people in all of Thedas, went out of their way to see who could grow the prettiest and most exotic plants. As with everything else in the Imperium, it was a competition. The path they walked had lanterns, a breeze trying in vain to carry off the smell of smoke and the heat. 

“Dorian where are we going?” 

The mage chortled. “Nowhere ominous I promise.” 

Mahanon rolled his eyes but continued to follow him. The feel of Harlan’s hand on his hip still weighed heavily on his mind. He wanted to tell Dorian. But doing so would break another wall he had put up between them. He didn’t want to be friends with the man, didn’t want to like him. It had happened anyways. Now all had were certain walls. Speaking of his clan or Sulahn was off-limits. He refused to give Dorian his name, though the man had taken to looking up elven words in order to guess. He didn’t speak up when he was shoved into walls by certain nobles looking to use him as they thought Dorian did. So far he had escaped these encounters unscathed. He took care of it himself, or told Athras. The older elf had a way of wrapping men and women around his finger, a way that both fascinated and perplexed Mahanon when the man was seemingly unremarkable in looks. 

He startled when something rather large trumpeted in front of them. Dorian laughed as Mahanon backed away, eyes adjusting to what he was seeing. It was easily three times the size of a druffalo or bear. Standing on all fours, he was certain it could plow through the mansion. It had a trunk that went to the floor, and its giant ears flapped in the light of the lanterns. But his eyes landed on its tusks, which were longer than he and Dorian were tall and curving out to the front.  

He noted Dorian wasn’t panicking, and was in fact moving closer to the beast. “It is alright Lavellan. She won’t hurt you.” 

“ _She_?” 

The mage walked up to the creature, patting _her_ trunk gently. “Her name is Lucy.”  

“That is a terrible name for a monster.” 

Dorian clucked his tongue. “Don’t listen to him my dear. He’s a frightfully skittish thing.” 

Mahanon took a hesitant step forward. “I just don’t enjoy being impaled.” 

“What a pity.” 

He shot Dorian a glare and stepped forward again. It was Lucy’s eyes that did it for him. He could see…something. There was intelligence in those eyes. He reached his hand out and touched the wrinkled skin. Lucy snuffed and then proceeded to wrap her trunk around him. Mahanon fought the urge to panic and held still, eyes on Dorian’s. The mage grinned. 

“This is her way of hugging you.” 

“If you say so.” 

Dorian chuckled, rubbing Lucy’s leg. “We call them _Luca_ _bos._ ” 

“A war elephant.” Mahanon had heard of them of course. “They exist?” 

“Most live free on the Silent Plains now. No longer bred for war. Many consider it a shame.” 

“But you don’t?” 

Mahanon definitely didn’t want to meet Lucy in a dark alley. He would also prefer she didn’t “hug” him. Dorian just shook his head. 

“You know me. I must go against the grain at every turn.” 

Mahanon chuckled and Lucy released him, snuffing at him with her trunk instead. Dorian handed her a mango, causing her to flick her tiny tai. The appendage was completely at odds with the rest of her. It almost reminded him of a contented dog. Mahanon pet her trunk again. The wrinkled flesh was odd, but firm and warm, covered with stiff bristles. Dorian watched him with a smile. Mahanon met his eyes, unable to stop his own lips from curving up. The mage cleared his throat. 

The moment was shattered by a scream. 

~~

Why they were running _towards_ the screaming was beyond Dorian. It was coming from the ballroom. Felix and Madeline were gone. A crowd had formed, words an incoherent mess as the shrieking continued. He pushed his way through, Lavellan at his elbow. Magister Aurum was dragging one of slaves by his ear, throwing him at the ground at his feet. The man was bleeding profusely. Licia Aurum raced into the ballroom, face tear-streaked as her father pressed his foot to the elf’s neck. Dorian felt Lavellan stiffen next to him, and his own stomach was turning. He was frozen as the terrible scene unfolded. 

“Let this be a lesson to you all! Treat these vermin well, give them an inch, and they will betray you!” 

“Father don’t do this!” 

To his credit, the elf turned his eyes to her. “Ma’arlath ma vhenan.” 

Dorian didn’t know the words, but he knew the tone. Before anyone in the room could react, Aurum pulled out a dagger, bending and cutting the elf’s throat in one swift motion. His last sight of Licia was Laurence holding her back as she screamed. Then he had to grab the back of Lavellan’s armor as the man tried to push his way forward, murder in his eyes. He dragged him back as the ballroom erupted into hushed whispers and chaos, dragging him outside and to the carriage house. 

“Let me go!” 

Dorian refused, throwing him away from him. Lavellan surged and Dorian grabbed him around the middle, feeling him shake with rage. 

“Lavellan enough! We need to leave!” 

“You leave! You run away from this you fucking coward. I won’t!” 

The words cut but not as badly as letting the elf run in and get himself killed would have. It was a struggle. Despite his considerable size advantage, Lavellan was little more than a demon in an elf suit in his anger. He refused to use magic to trap the elf, but he did manage to shove him into a pillar. Lavellan stilled, something Dorian feared almost as much as when he lashed out. 

“That man is _dead_. You can’t save him!” 

Lavellan growled but Dorian remained firm, pinning across the chest with his forearm. “Emma she’man venedhis seth’lin.” 

Dorian pressed a little harder, nose to nose with the elf. “I am not going to let you kill yourself.” 

The elf panted heavily under him, eyes wild and glinting even in the smoke-covered night. Dorian found his eyes flicking to his mouth unconsciously and pushed away, cheeks warm. _Get ahold of yourself._ The elf growled again but didn’t move, eyes trained on Dorian. Livia’s voice cut through the silence. 

“Dorian you need to get Lavellan out of here. Aurum just sentenced all of his slaves to death.” 

Lavellan punched the pillar and Dorian heard the crack of his knuckles. Both he and Livia turned towards the elf who only snarled and held his probably fractured hand. Dorian fought off his sudden need to either kiss the stubborn fool senseless or grab him and shake him. Livia raised an eyebrow in Dorian’s direction and he ignored her. 

“Lavellan…” 

“I know.” The elf snapped, heading for their carriage. “Let’s go.” 

Once inside, it was Livia who soothed the savage beast. She reached forward and grabbed Lavellan’s hand, murmuring a healing spell. The elf gave her a weak smile in thanks. Dorian was grateful to her, even when she laced her fingers through his. He wondered how she would feel, when he left. If she would greet his departure with relief or tears. They did not love each other, but he didn’t want to hurt her. He squeezed her hand. Despite the horror of the night, he could appreciate one of the rare moments they spent together where they weren’t trading veiled barbs or openly decrying their upcoming nuptials. 

They dropped her off and he and Lavellan were left alone. The elf wouldn’t look at him. He was perfectly still, not even the tensing of his jaw to show he was upset. Dorian found these to be the times he was most dangerous. When he was as motionless as a tiger about to pounce on his prey. When they reached the house, Lavellan went to Dorian’s quarters and not his. They had this arrangement a few nights a week, to keep up the charade of the elf being more than his bodyguard. Dorian hated it, but Lavellan had insisted. Even as angry with Dorian as the elf was, and he had every right to be, he still went. 

Once inside, Dorian shut the door and locked it. That was when Lavellan broke. It wasn’t the blind fury he had been expecting. It was quiet, a soft sob as the elf slid down the wall, running his hands through his shorn hair. This was new, and Dorian had no idea how to react as the elf shattered himself on the floor of his bedroom. 

“Do you know what his last words were?” 

Dorian shook his head. Lavellan took a shuddering breath. 

“He told her he loved her.”

He was puzzled for a moment. The elf’s hands trembled, his shoulders shook. Dorian was more concerned with holding him, lying to him and telling him everything was going to be okay. But he stayed frozen. Then it clicked. The elf’s last words hadn’t been words to start a rebellion. No call for freedom, or hate. Just words of love. He found he fractured a little as well, at last kneeling in front of Lavellan and gripping his knees. The elf looked up, eyes too shiny. 

“Tell me something good Dorian.” 

Dorian was stumped. He wasn’t the kind of man who gave others comfort. He was jaded, grim, preferring to make a joke when things got rough. Preferring to yell and lecture and ramble. But here Lavellan was, changing the game again. Changing everything. Dorian squeezed his knees. Any other person in Thedas, he would have answered _Something good Dorian_. 

Lavellan got, “I am going to take you far, far away from here.” 

The elf let out a soft, choked noise Dorian thought might have passed for a laugh. Dorian released his knees and joined him against the wall. He wanted to do a hundred things, such as wrap his arm around the elf’s shoulders and pull him to his chest. Kiss him. Carry him straight to the nearest dock and flee that very night. He settled for letting their shoulders touch. The elf leaned his head back, keeping his knees to his chest. Dorian forced himself to say the words. 

“You will see Sulahn again soon. I made a promise to you. I intend to keep it.” 

Lavellan gave him a sideways glance. “I almost believed you that time.” 

It was a joke. The elf’s voice was hoarse with emotion, eyes still promising tears. Dorian knocked his shoulder a little harder into his, not trusting himself to speak. Lavellan snorted and rose to his feet. It left Dorian feeling suddenly bereft, the heat gone, replaced by disappointment as he realized the smaller man was leaving. The elf gave him a half-smile though, before turning on his heel. 

“Good night Dorian.” 

“Good night Lavellan.” 

~~

Mahanon was still caught between breaking down and killing every magister he saw. Torn, between utter despair and black hate. Dorian eased the pain. He had a good heart, but he was afraid. Afraid of defying a father he still loved, and leaving his homeland. Afraid of stepping in between a slave and his master. Something had to give soon, Mahanon knew. Either he would have to give up on Dorian or the man would have to keep his promises. He shook his head and opened his door, freezing when he saw the lump in his bed. A lump who sat up and looked at him through a dirty mane of hair and a gaunt face. Mahanon never thought he would see that face again. 

“Harry?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was trying to find a reference for the way I would imagine an elephant in Thedas would look. Somewhere between some extinct species and those elephants in Lord of the Rings(not as gigantic) but I couldn't find a decent link so I'll leave it to your guys' imaginations. I sort of imagine Tevinter to be a cross between ancient India and the Roman Empire. Once again all the love to you guys for continuing to read this and to my beta TheFaye92.


	11. Let it Kill You

_“My dear,_

_Find what you love and let it kill you._

_Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness._

_Let it kill you and let it devour your remains._

_For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover._

_~ Falsely yours”_   ― Charles Bukowski

 

Mahanon just stared open-mouthed for a second. If it weren’t for the eyes, he never would have recognized the man before him. Even with them it was something of a stretch. Harry was nothing but skin and bones. His hair grown even longer than it had been when they’d met, dank and dirty and gnarled. He was dressed in rags. Mahanon quickly lit a candle as the mage sat up. Harry was still just staring at him, as if he couldn’t believe Mahanon was real. Then he burst into tears. 

“I-I-I’m s-s-s-orry.” 

Mahanon reacted more on instinct than any rational thought. He needed Harry to be quiet before he got them both killed. He went to the man and wrapped his arms around him. Harry wept into his armor, shaking as Mahanon stroked his hair. He had nothing to say, just mumbled nonsense in elvish and common until Harry cried himself out. When he was spent Mahanon knelt in front of him, cupping his face. 

“Falon you live.” 

Harry almost broke down again. “I-if you can call it that.” 

Mahanon looked over his shoulder, thinking quickly. “We can’t stay here.” 

“N-nowhere else t-to go…” 

He tugged the man to his feet. He was emaciated to the point where Mahanon wasn’t sure he could make the walk upstairs, or even how he’d gotten here in the first place.  _Ask questions later._  There was no other option than to take him to Dorian’s room and pray no one found them until then. He wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist, disturbed as much by feel of his bones as by the smell of him. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t bathed, it was that Mahanon could smell smoke and what he knew was the smell of burnt flesh. Smell the desperation that matched Harry's eyes. Gone was that fumbling boy who had healed his ankle and held him when they were both sure he was dying. This, Mahanon didn’t know how to deal with alone. 

They were on the stairs up to Dorian’s room, Mahanon half-carrying Harry, when Henley and Maurice appeared at the top. His heart attempted to claw its way out of his chest. Both of them froze, gap-mouthed in twin glances. Which was when Harry decided to faint. Mahanon guided him to the floor. 

“Venedhis!” 

 Blood was trickling down the mage’s torn sleeve. Mahanon bent, cursing. To his surprise, Henley and Maurice were there, examining Harry’s wounds. They saw the metal collar around Harry’s neck and Henley tilted his head. 

“Are you taking him to Master Dorian?” He whispered. 

Mahanon nodded. “He’s a friend. He needs help.” 

Henley rolled his eyes. “You don’t say? Grab his shoulders.” 

Torn between checking Henley for demonic possession or helping Harry, Mahanon gave in and grabbed Harry’s shoulders. They carried him easily enough to Dorian’s door. Mahanon knocked softly. 

“Dorian.” 

He held his breath and the door opened. Dorian hadn’t gone to sleep yet. He took one look at the situation and stepped aside, waving his hand. They carried Harry to Dorian’s couch, setting him down gently. 

“Maurice, Henley, you best get back to your quarters.” 

“Yes master.” 

Dorian hesitated. “I would also appreciate if you didn’t mention this to my father.” 

Once more they both nodded, inclining their heads slightly. Dorian met Mahanon’s eyes and shrugged.

"They like  _me_." 

Mahanon trailed his eyes back to Harry, who had opened his. 

“Lavellan…” Dorian’s voice was soft. 

He took the mage’s hand and turned to Dorian. “Help him. Please.” 

Dorian looked at him for a long moment. “Very well.” 

Mahanon exhaled in relief. Dorian quirked his mouth. 

“What do you need?” 

He didn’t know. He turned back to Harry, whose eyes hadn’t left him. 

“Can you sit up?” 

The mage nodded once, meek. He sat up and his hands went to what was once a set of robes. Then he hesitated, looking at Dorian with naked vulnerability. Mahanon heard a soft curse. 

“I’m drawing him a bath.” 

Mahanon felt his lips twitch. Harry frowned. 

“He is your master.” 

He still flinched internally at the word. “He is. For now.” 

“You trust him?” 

Mahanon felt a huff of air escape him. “To help you? Yes.” 

Harry still hesitated. Mahanon cupped one shoulder as gently as he could. 

“Harry you’re bleeding. I have to see from where.” 

The mage bowed his head. “I don’t want you to see what they did to me.” 

Mahanon cupped his cheek. Anything to get that devastated look off of his face. 

“It’s alright Harry. You’re safe now.” 

It may have been a lie. It may not have been. It was what Harry needed to hear. He let Mahanon help him out of his robes. Mahanon suddenly wished he hadn’t. Harry’s body was testament to brutality. Scars covered his arms and, when Mahanon checked, his back. Where it wasn’t flayed open with barely-scabbed lash marks. In places it was hard to tell what was dirt, ash, or the scars. What twisted the knife in Mahanon’s gut was the precision of each mark. Each was deliberate, spaced evenly apart. Someone had sliced into Harry’s flesh with intent. A soft shudder went through Mahanon as the blood from Harry’s wounds trickled through the dirt and ash. Dorian startled them both when he came back in the room. Harry made a choked noise and grabbed Mahanon’s arm. To his credit, Dorian maintained his quiet expression, voice gentle. 

“I won’t hurt you. Lavellan here wouldn’t let me even if I wanted to. I’m a friend.” 

Harry looked to Mahanon and he nodded. “Alright.” 

Dorian walked forward slowly. “I’m going to pick you up. We’ll give you a bath and put you to bed okay?” 

Harry nodded again and Dorian scooped him up easily, cradling him like a child. Mahanon took a moment to collect himself. He was volleying between rage, despair, and feeling utterly helpless. He clenched his fists and took a deep breath before rising and following them to the tub. 

~~

_He watched his father run his hands over the slave. Good hands, magic hands. They lit with green energy as he healed the man’s back from his lash wounds. The skin knitted together perfectly under his father’s hands. No scars were left behind at all. Dorian knew he would never be able to do something like that. His father saw his face and smiled as the slave got up and inclined his head._

_“Thank you Master.”_

_His father waved his hand dismissively. “Go on Henley. Know if you steal from the kitchens again you will get the same.”_

_The elf nodded and left. Then his father turned to their stable master, Brand. Their only human slave. Dorian liked him. He snuck treats to Dorian behind his father’s back, and let him ride the stallions instead of the ancient gelding his father insisted on. He didn’t like seeing the man sick. His father frowned. Dorian didn’t like that very much either._

_“Can’t you heal him Father?”_

_He shook his head. “There are some things magic can’t heal son.”_

_“Felix says blood magic is supposed to fix everything.”_

_“Felix, like you my son, is a boy. A clever boy but still a boy. Blood magic is the resort of the weak mind.”_

_Dorian frowned. “But it makes you stronger.”_

_His father snorted, resting his hand on Dorian’s shoulder as he guided him from the slaves’ infirmary. “Blood magic does not make you any stronger than the next man. It comes with a price. You never know what the price may be.”_

_“So you can’t save him?”_

_His father shook his head. “No but that is the way of it. Death is as much a part of this world as magic.”_

_That upset him. He didn’t want Brand to die. But if his father couldn’t save him, no one could. Not wanting to think about that, he grabbed his father’s arm._

_“What about time travel?”_

_His father chuckled warmly and tousled his hair. Dorian hated it when anyone but him did that._

_“Go ask your mother. She wanted your help with those birds of hers.”_

_He went gladly, needing to get away from the infirmary. He ran into the gardens, happy to be back in the sun. He could smell lunch coming from the kitchens. After he helped his mother, who skipped lunch because of one of her headaches, he returned to to his own room. On his bed lay a wooden duck with wheels. It was new, he could tell. His father had told him he was too old to play with toys, yet there it was. He smiled, going to pick it up._

Dorian  _had_  been trying to sleep. Trying, but for the grisly memories of the Aurums' ballroom. That, and the fact he had stood by and done nothing. That was what Lavellan did to him. Opened his bloody eyes. And came to his door with runaway slaves expecting him to help. Which he did without question. Evidently. He tried not to think about it has he helped Lavellan clean up and treat his friend. Another thing to add to his growing pile of shit he didn’t want to think about, what this man had been through. After his bath they put him in Dorian’s bed, Lavellan sweet and gentle in a way Dorian hadn’t known he was capable of.  _Yes you did. He was the same way with you._  Dorian ignored that thought too. 

“Giving up my bed again. And my clothes.” 

Lavellan ignored him, rubbing his neck as he rose from Harry’s side, disentangling his hand from the boy’s. Dorian found himself rambling on. 

“It’s not just you my father will skin alive for this you know. When we get caught. Not to mention…”

The elf had been eyeing him with amusement, lips twitching. Probably trying to find a way to shut Dorian up. He found one. He stepped right up to Dorian, cupping his face in both of his calloused hands. They burned through Dorian, lighting his very blood. Then Lavellan pressed his lips to Dorian’s hungrily. Dorian was properly stunned, wrapping his arms around the elf and kissing him back. This was what he had wanted for weeks. This was what he… _What do you think you’re doing?_  He broke off the kiss, releasing Lavellan and stepping away. He was a bad man. Selfish and cowardly and lusting after a blasted slave who could hardly stand him. But he refused to be  _this_  sort of bad. It was just wrong. 

“Why did you do that?”  It came out an accusation. It  _was_  an accusation. Lavellan snorted. 

“Well I was trying to thank you.” 

“Don’t.” The elf stepped closer and Dorian held his hands up. 

Lavellan took another step forward. Dorian was too panicked to realize he was being backed into the wall. The elf was downright predatory. 

“You want me.” 

“Well and truly besides the point.” Dorian snapped. 

Lavellan tilted his head. “You didn’t like it?” 

This man was going to be the death of him. He was going to have to steel himself. 

“It doesn’t matter. We can’t.” 

“It’s just sex Dorian.” 

His turn to growl at the elf. “No. It’s not. It’s me taking advantage of you. You with the lover and family waiting for you. I'd just be the magister who’s  _using_  you.” 

Lavellan gaped at him. Dorian brushed past him, feeling taught as a bowstring. He didn’t give a shit about Lavellan’s Sulahn. Didn’t give a shit everyone thought he was using the elf anyways. Not if it protected Lavellan. 

“I can’t keep Harry. But I have a friend who may be willing to take him. She’ll keep him safe. I’ll write her. He can hide here until then.” 

He grabbed the back of the couch, gripping until his knuckles turned white. It would keep him from turning around and kissing the elf. 

“You should return to your quarters Lavellan.” 

“Mahanon.” 

Dorian kept his grip on the couch but turned his head. The elf was watching him, eyes mossy they were so soft, hand on the doorknob. He smiled, making Dorian’s stomach flip-flop. 

“My name. It’s Mahanon.” 

Before Dorian could respond the elf opened the door and slipped out on silent feet. He picked up Harry’s rags in the need to busy his hands, deciding to burn them. The couch too. He was  _not_  going to think about that kiss, or how happy learning Mahanon’s name had made him. 

~~

Athras was watching, because that was his duty to his master and mistress. He watched. Watched Lavellan grow stronger and softer at the same time. Saw the smile he saved for Master Dorian, and Master Dorian alone. Watched how Dorian lost some of his feathers, looking at Lavellan at the Dalish like he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He knew they weren’t laying together. 

He saw Lavellan carry the boy from his room, and watched Henley and Maurice help him rather than reporting to Master Halward. He watched as they returned to their quarters. He cleaned up the blood on the steps and watched when Lavellan came looking for it. Then went back to his quarters without the boy. 

Then he went back to her. He was Master Halward’s to the rest of the world. That was true. But in his heart he would belong to her. She was in another opium-induced haze, naked and asleep. He slipped into the sheets next to her, thinking. He hadn’t survived as long as he had simply by watching, it was true. He knew when to wait and when to slip vital information into the right ears. He felt it was about the right time to tell Magister Halward his son was falling in love with his bodyguard. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, no sex between Mahanon and Dorian while he's a slave. Promise. Oh and my beta pointed out where it might be confusing Athras isn't sexually assaulting Dorian's mom. She knows he's there and he doesn't touch her when she's all opiumed out.


	12. Love is that Condition

_“Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own.”_  -Robert Heinlein   


Mahanon didn’t sleep. The night had been too long, and too much had happened. He wanted to pinpoint what exactly had made him kiss Dorian. He knew if he wanted to, he could blame it on the stress or that he was so lonely it hurt, and Dorian was the only friendly face around for miles. He hadn’t been lying when he said it was to thank him. When he really looked at it though, he knew it was because he was growing attached. He and Dorian were friends. It shamed him deeply that it wasn’t betraying Sulahn that was keeping him awake. It was that in another life, he and Dorian could be much more. He’d been hiding from his own attraction, but it seemed he no longer could. 

It was a good thing Dorian was a far better man than anyone gave him credit for, even Mahanon. He forced his mind away from Dorian and onto Harry. Mahanon really didn’t want to know the particulars of what had happened. If Harry never wanted to speak of it again, he would, rather selfishly, be okay with that. Mahanon groaned and called to mind the nameless slave who’d been killed the night before. The look of love in his eyes right before they’d switched to utter terror. He gave up and got out of his too-hot bed, suffocating. The sky was graying. He could go back to Dorian’s room. 

He made it without incident, too tired even to be paranoid. Dorian answered the door, the only sign of his own exhaustion the bags under his eyes. Everything else about him was groomed to perfection. There was a brief moment where Mahanon wanted to wrap his arms around his neck and bury his face into his chest. Dorian just gave him a tired smile and turned away. Mahanon shook it off. He needed to get a grip. Think of Sulahn. Think of Harry needing him now. Dorian walked over to a tray of food and tea, pouring some for Mahanon. 

“You look terrible.” 

Mahanon huffed out a laugh. “Really now? I feel like dancing.” 

He accepted the cup from Dorian gratefully, careful not to touch him. It didn’t help how  _aware_  he was of Dorian’s proximity. He took a heavy gulp of the tea, the heat and the slight bitter taste helped wash away some of the exhaustion. When he looked up, Dorian was watching him with concern. He quickly ducked his head and shoved some food towards Mahanon. Mahanon looked over to where Harry was still sleeping soundly. 

“He ate a little. I am delegating spoon-feeding duties to you from now on however.” 

Mahanon gave him a ghost of a smile. Harry, despite his clean hair and a slight flush of color in his cheeks, looked half dead. Mahanon forewent the food to go sit on the bed. Harry started and Mahanon pressed a hand lightly to his chest. 

“It’s just me falon. You’re safe.” 

The mage stilled. “Are you leaving again?” 

Mahanon looked over to Dorian. He shook his head and Mahanon nearly smiled again.  _Dread Wolf I need to sleep._  Harry tugged on his arm. 

“Can you…if you want…” 

It took Mahanon a moment to understand. Then it clicked and he moved next to Harry, settling back on the many pillows. The younger man grabbed onto Mahanon’s shirt, curling into his chest. He was out again in seconds. Mahanon focused on his steady heartbeat and  _not_  how much the bed smelled like Dorian. It was rather unintentional, but his eyelids soon grew heavy and he drifted off. 

~~

Dorian was trying extremely hard to ignore the vague jealousy that burned in his chest at the sight of Mahanon and Harry curled up together in  _his_  bed. Irritated with himself and…everything else, he grabbed a book and settled in a chair by the window. He was exhausted, but his duty to watch over both men in the bed kept him awake. That, and Felix would be there soon. Even knowing that, he almost jumped out of his skin when the door opened and his friend let himself in. 

Felix glanced over at the bed and kept quiet as he locked the door behind him. Then set a ward should anyone else try. He crossed the room and Dorian stood, leading him out on the balcony. His father was gone with Athras, Henley, and Maurice to the Aurum’s. The grisly sight Dorian knew would greet them, mixed with the random whiffs of smoke he kept catching, made his stomach twist painfully. Felix grabbed the rails of the balcony even as Dorian leaned on the wall, folding his arms. His friend looked at him, eyes drawn with concern and sympathy. 

“When did you start collecting strays?” 

Dorian snorted, enjoying the slight warmth still in the air. “Will you help me get them out of the city? Mae is in Qarinus. I sent word.” 

“Of course. Last night was…” 

He nodded. “That it was.”

He could see the tension in Felix’s forearms, the set of his jaw. He knew he and Madeline were both deeply affected by the plight of the slaves. He supposed he was too. Felix almost growled. 

“Dorian we have to do something. This can’t go on.” 

He thought back to the slave from the night before.  _Ma’arlath ma vhenan._  Felix, as usual, was right. 

“I am going to take Mahanon home. After that, I shall return and we  _will_  change things. Together.” 

Felix looked at him sideways, lips curving into a smile. “Mahanon is it?” 

Damned if he didn’t feel heat rising in his cheeks. Felix flashed his teeth then. 

“I don’t know if I should slap some sense into you or congratulate you.” 

“I am only trying to do right by him. He deserves that much at least.” 

He surprised himself more than Felix at the words. They were true. He joined Felix at the railing and the other man knocked their shoulders together. Dorian was grateful for the contact. He wasn’t entirely alone in the world after all. After a moment Felix sighed and rose. 

“Tomorrow then?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

Felix placed a warm hand on his shoulder. Dorian reached up and grabbed it briefly before letting it go. He honestly did have hope for the future if Felix was by his side. He just had to live up to his example. He took a moment to let the rising sun sink into his skin, soothing him. He’d chosen perhaps the most difficult road ahead imaginable, but it needed to be done. The worst part was going to be saying good-bye to Mahanon. 

He pushed off the balcony and headed back inside, eye straying once more to the elf and Harry. A fantasy came to him, of curling around Mahanon and just…sleeping. Of waking up next to him. It filled him with a pang of longing, a sharp cut straight through his chest. He swallowed the lump in his throat and decided to pen that letter to Mae. 

~~

Mahanon had never seen an intact section of the Imperial Highway before. He was certain he’d appreciate it a lot more if not for the crucifixes lining the road out of Minrathous. The bodies of rebellious slaves and enemies of the Magisterium who were conveniently accused of aiding them, or so Dorian explained. It was like being doused with icy water, the realization that it could easily be him or Dorian up on one of those crosses. He wondered if that was why Dorian had retreated within himself, not pontificating as he usually did. He just stared out of the window. Harry hid his face in Mahanon’s chest, then dozed off and on the rest of the trip. Mahanon was just glad to leave the city behind. Occasionally, Dorian would snap out of his fugue and meet Mahanon’s eyes. 

There was determination and sorrow in equal measure, and Mahanon felt a lurch in his gut each time, wishing he could reach over and comfort Dorian. As it was, their legs kept touching in the confines of the carriage. He settled for that. By the time they found a village Dorian was willing to stop in for the night, the mage had been quiet for hours and Harry hadn’t woken. As the coachman stopped Mahanon gave in and squeezed Dorian’s knee. He only got a tired smile in return before Dorian exited. 

He stepped into the sunset, seeing the stone from the dilapidated elven ruins nearby also in the makeup of the houses. Dorian waved his hand towards the curved ruins. 

“Those were aqueducts. The elves used them to carry water. My ancestors never did quite figure out how to make the stone they used, or how to keep them in repair. Magic doesn’t fix everything as it turns out.” 

That was when Mahanon knew Dorian was going to be okay. He grabbed Harry and carried him to their room, the mage’s skinny arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Dorian carried their bags, to Mahanon’s eternal amusement. They received odd looks, but Mahanon didn’t care, keeping his head on a swivel and concentrating on getting Harry upstairs, fed, and into bed. Once that was done, he met Dorian downstairs, where the man was drinking alone in the corner. He didn’t miss the occasional narrow-eyed glance directed his way. An armed elf not chained to his master’s side.  _I’m certain this can only end well._  

He joined Dorian, who smiled weakly at him. “I came to a decision.” 

Mahanon pulled up a chair, keeping his back to the wall and his eye on the door. “Oh?” 

“When we get to Qarinus, I will book us a ship and escort you home. Then I shall return to try and change my countrymen’s ways.” 

He stared at Dorian. It was less than a month to Qarinus. Hope flared in his chest as he met Dorian’s dark eyes with his own. He saw only sincerity there. Conviction. There was also the small lurch of disappointment. He knew why but he refused to acknowledge it. The moment lingered, and Mahanon’s cheeks heated. He could just reach over and…There was a loud crashing noise from up the stairs, quickly followed by shouting. Mahanon really didn’t need to run back up the room to figure out where it was coming from. It did catch him off-guard when he was flung into the wall, cracking his head. 

Dazed he looked up to see Dorian go to the bed, waking Harry up from his nightmare. When he’d soothed him Dorian came over to Mahanon, kneeling in front of him. He pressed tentative fingers to Mahanon’s temple, using the other to probe the back of his head. 

“Are you alright?” 

Mahanon nodded. Harry was awake, watching them with wide-eyes. He let Dorian pull him to his feet, rocking against him. The other man steadied him, hands large and warm on his shoulders. Dorian froze a moment, their eyes locking. Then he released Mahanon as suddenly as if he’d been burned. 

“If you’ll pardon me I have some damage control to take care of with our host.” 

He said it airily enough, though Mahanon could tell he was forcing the lightness in his town. Harry had been casting in his sleep, and the crashing noise seemed to have come from a chair being thrown into the wall and splintering. Mahanon rubbed his head as he crawled into bed with Harry, who was crying again. 

“Y-y-you shouldn’t be h-helping m-me. I-I’m t-trouble.” 

“It is far too late now Harry. Come here. You need to sleep.” 

Harry clutched him again, as if Mahanon was the only thing anchoring him to this life. It worried Mahanon how much stronger, and how out of control, Harry’s magic had become. Which meant he was left wondering what the poor sod had been through these last few months. 

~~

It was odd when Dorian realized the trip to Qarinus was the happiest he’d been in recent memory. The weather, starting its slow creep into winter, was great despite the occasional bouts of heat or rain. Harry started to grow on Dorian. He needed kindness and protection, both things Dorian was pleased to discover he and Mahanon could offer in spades. Then there was Mahanon himself. Dorian felt like he hadn’t even scratched the surface in the months they had come to know each other. To get Harry to sleep he told stories, of his clan and their legends, teaching both Dorian and Harry elvish. Dorian wasn’t sure whether it was leaving Minrathous behind, or the possibility of going home, or Harry himself, but the elf smiled more in three weeks than had their entire acquaintance. Dorian liked the change. 

But with it came a certain sorrow. Their time together would be done, and all too soon for his liking. As Qarinus came into view, Dorian was both thrilled and saddened. At least until Mae wrapped him in her arms and kissed his cheek, laughing. 

“Dorian Pavus you complete and utter arse.” 

He laughed with her, kissing her cheek. “Arse? Me?” 

“I don’t see you for nearly a year, then you turn up on my doorstep with a couple of strays. So yes, you’re an arse.” 

He didn’t  _disagree_ with her. He took a second to look her over. She was born to stand out, his hero in many ways. If she didn’t stand out for being born a man, she did for her marriage to a dwarf and her willingness to stand up to extremists. He admired her for that, as well as his father’s complete disapproval of their friendship. Her sharp blue eyes landed on Mahanon and Harry, who was starting to look somewhat human again. He stood on his own two feet, dressed in Dorian’s smallest and oldest robes, laughing as Mahanon told him some joke. The elf’s teeth flashed against his copper skin, making Dorian smile too. He caught Mae’s glance and gestured towards Harry. 

“He’s the one I was hoping you could help. Harry.” 

“Oh? And what of the elf?” 

Dorian knew he was still smiling, he just decided not to care. “Mahanon. I’m taking him home on the first ship out.” 

Her eyes widened just a bit, lips curving into a smile. “You’re taken with him!” 

“Oh would you look at that. I believe I have luggage that needs to be carried inside.” 

“That is what I have servants for darling.” 

He shot her a look and she waved her hand. “I pay them. Handsomely.” 

Relieved he watched as Harry and Mahanon approached. Harry stared at his feet while Mahanon stepped in front of him protectively. Mae flitted her eyes over Mahanon, before reaching for Harry and bracing his arms. He looked up, eyes shiny. Gentler than he had ever heard her, Mae smiled and spoke softly. 

“You’re safe here. Safe and free.” 

Harry all but collapsed against her. Mae held him, reaching up to his neck and murmuring a spell. The enchanted collar around his neck snapped off in her hand. She let it fall to the ground and led Harry inside, murmuring softly. Mahanon watched them go, smile tinged with sadness. He looked towards Dorian. 

“What now?” 

Dorian rubbed the back to of his neck. “We go to the docks and hire a ship.” 

The way Mahanon stared at him then, he knew he could do this. Take him home, come back and fight. It was worth it if Mahanon looked at him like that. The elf looked towards the Harry and Mae, then back to Dorian. Before Dorian could stop him Mahanon stepped in and kissed his cheek, then followed them into the house. 

That afternoon he got them a ship. They would leave in a week. Rather than go to his family’s home, they stayed at Mae’s. At dinner their first night, Mae fed them as much food as they could take, insisting Harry got the lion’s share. Then she led Harry to his own suite of the house, before leading Dorian and Mahanon back to her drawing room for brandy. Mahanon was shifting, antsy in Mae’s company. Dorian knew he was dying to ask, so as Mae handed him a glass he did it for the elf. 

“Mae what  _are_  your intentions with Harry?” 

She didn’t take offense, looking at Mahanon as she spoke. “First, I want to see if he’ll tell me what happened to him. Then, I think I shall take him on as my apprentice. I can’t send him home to one of those circles at the rate they’re going, and I won’t keep that poor creature as a slave.”  

That seemed to set Mahanon at ease. He stopped fidgeting, taking a spot where he could watch the door, sipping at his brandy. Time for his own questions then. 

“I have to ask, where have you been? I don’t believe for a minute you spent six months in the middle of nowhere.” 

Her laughter chimed through the room. “What are the rumors?” 

“The usual. You are a disgrace to the Tilani name and are sowing the seeds of dissent wherever you walk.” 

She just laughed again and joined him on her couch with her own glass. “I was investigating rumors of a new cult. The type who want to recapture the glory of ‘Old Tevinter.’” 

Dorian fought his eye-roll. These types of cults sprang up all of the time, wanting the sprawling empire of their ancestors. Ignoring that the predicament they were in now was precisely because of those ancestors and their arrogance. That many parts of Thedas were dying for it still. Mae kept talking, describing these Venatori. He found he wasn’t paying attention, mind and eyes wandering. To Mahanon.  _Damn_. He forced himself back into the conversation, though ti was difficult. Drinking the brandy to distract himself probably wasn’t the wisest decision. Eventually, Mae excused herself, leaving them alone for the first time since before Mahanon had kissed him. 

He was torn between leaving and staying and talking with the elf. The choice was taken when Mahanon rose, joining him on the couch. Dorian froze. Mahanon’s cheeks were slightly flushed, eyes shiny with the brandy. He’d drunk more than Dorian thought. Dorian himself was sufficiently buzzed enough to want to reach out and trace Mahanon’s tattoos. He didn’t, curling his treacherous fingers into a fist. 

“Which god did you pick?” 

Mahanon blinked in surprise. “What?” 

“Your vallaslin. Which god did you pick?” 

“I chose Mythal. The goddess of justice.” 

Dorian tilted his head. “May I ask why?” 

The elf tilted his head, but didn’t shut down. “Most hunters choose Andruil. She gave us Vir Tandal, The Way of the Three Trees.” 

His eyes grew distant. Dorian wondered if it was the forests he missed so that he was seeing, or Sulahn. 

“Vir Assan, Vir Bor’assan, and Vir Adahlen.” Mahanon held his hand out flat, moving it in a straight line away from his chest. “The Way of the Arrow, fly straight and do not waver. The Way of the Bow, bend but do not break. And The Way of the Forest, together we are stronger than one.” 

He laughed, though it was half-hearted. 

“I struggled with all three. But the idea of justice, of being a protector above all else, that appealed.” 

Dorian found his voice was soft. “Justice fits you.” 

“Does it? I am not so sure.” 

“If not for you…I may never have opened my eyes to just how far my homeland has fallen.” 

The elf turned, giving him that look again. Before Mahanon could kiss him again, Dorian all but jumped to his feet. 

“One more week my friend. I will get you on that ship even if it kills me.” 

Dorian was certain he was imagining the shadow of disappointment in the elf’s eyes. 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Good night lethallin.” 

“Good night Mahanon.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most thrilled with this chapter cause I had to split it up and it's a little boring. But we're inching closer and closer to the climax.


	13. This Side of the Grave

_“There is no safety this side of the grave”_ -Robert Heinlein 

 

Mahanon ducked under the crystal clear water, feeling like he was swimming through liquid light. He swam out from the shore, playing with the waves before letting them carry him back. He didn’t even fight when they deposited him on the fine sand of the shore, rolling over on his back. Dorian stood above him, eyes twinkling with amusement. 

“Here I thought you were an elf and not a fish Mahanon.” 

Mahanon loved the way Dorian said his name. He used it sparingly, and every time he said it like it was precious. He grinned and jumped to his feet as another wave crashed in, enjoying the pull of his muscles as he fought the water. Dorian shook his head, stepping just out of reach of the water. 

“Even looking at you makes me green around the gills as it were.” 

Mahanon looked behind him, flashing his teeth. “You could always join me.” 

“So that I may be covered in salt and get sand in places no one has ever wanted sand? No thank you.” 

He nodded, as if in understanding, Then he jumped Dorian, dragging him towards the water. 

“Festis bei umo c-”

Dorian’s curse was interrupted as the next wave got sea water in his mouth. Mahanon was laughing hard as Dorian spat it out, growling. 

“You are dead Lavellan!” 

He then proceeded to pull off his sopping wet shirt and tackle Mahanon into the water. It was entirely out of character for the mage, and Mahanon loved it. They wrestled, something he hadn’t know the mage to be capable of. When they got tired he and Dorian both collapsed on the beach together, staring at the achingly blue sky and panting like beached fish. His lungs burned but he loved it, feeling alive. He turned his head towards Dorian, who after a moment turned to face him. It hit Mahanon hard how much he was going to miss the damned vint. Dorian broke the eye contact first, rising to his elbows. Mahanon unabashedly raked his eyes over Dorian’s well-muscled body, his breeches clinging to sandy legs. He grinned and rose himself. Dorian tilted his face to the sun, closing his eyes. 

“You know I don’t think I’ve done this since I was a boy.” 

Mahanon looked out over the water. “Sat on your ass?” 

Dorian snorted. “Played in the water. My family is from here. My father would watch while my mother and I would collect seashells.”

Mahanon wished he could have seen that. Wished he could have known a Dorian not mired in his country’s flaws, see him without the weight of the world on his shoulders. Dorian opened his eyes slowly, then turned to Mahanon. 

“Want to try breathing under water? I know a spell.” 

He grinned. “Yes. If you do it too.” 

Dorian sighed dramatically. “Very well. Don’t panic, it only stings until you get underwater.” 

He reached over and placed the flat of his smooth palm to Mahanon’s chest. Time stilled for him in that moment, his breath hitching. Than a cool sensation filled his lungs, and suddenly they were burning for an entirely different reason. He made a run for the water, swimming fast. Then he dove. Mahanon gasped when he was down far enough. The sea was _alive_. Schools of silver fish glinted in the distance, complete forests full of seaweed, thicker than many forests he had actually seen. The bed was marked with brightly colored creatures he had no name for. He almost missed Dorian swimming next to him, powerful arms moving through the water easily. He pointed and down and Mahanon followed him happily. 

They didn’t go down far before his ears started to strain. He was soon lost in staring at the odd creatures. Dorian led him to a line of colorful rocks that appeared to be a hotbed of life. He didn’t know there were that many kinds of fish. Even ones striped orange and white a purple and gold. Dorian grabbed his arm to show him a weird creature, flat with a whiplike tail. Then a shark in the distance. That was around the time the spell began to wear off and he and Dorian swam to the surface, letting the waves carry them to the shore. Mahanon whooped when they got back to shore, raising his fists to the sky and shouting at the horizon. He found Dorian was watching him. 

Mahanon glanced around, determined. He spotted what he was looking for quickly, reaching into the foamy water pulling around his legs and pulling it free. He shook it of sand and foam. He reached for Dorian’s hand, forcing him to open his palm, and deposited the seashell into it. 

“That was an amazing gift lethallin. Ma serranas.” 

He wrapped Dorian’s fingers around the shell. Dorian just stared at their hands in wonder. Mahanon smiled and stepped away slowly. Before grabbing Dorian’s now-dry robes and throwing them into the water, starting another round. 

~~

By the time they made it back to Mae’s and bathed, Dorian was worn out but happy. He met Mahanon on the stairs, the elf unarmed for a change, wearing simple breeches and a white linen shirt. Barefoot as was his preference. Mahanon’s eyes raked over him in turn. Dorian cleared his throat and gestured downstairs. They were meeting Mae and Harry in the drawing room before dinner. Then in the morning they’d be off. They walked down in a comfortable silence. 

Which was quickly interrupted by the sounds of Harry screaming. They burst into the drawing room to find him shrouded in his own barrier, pieces of furniture flying around the room. He had a knife pressed to his own throat. 

“Make it stop! Please make it stop!” 

Mae was circling, trying to fight the powerful force coming from the mage. Dorian helped her. It was terrifying, casting against a force that was ripping a hole in the veil. He didn’t see Mahanon until it was too late to stop him. The mad fool struggled against the magic. Harry either didn’t see him or was too far gone in his own terror to notice as the elf reached him, wrapping his arms around Harry. 

“Harry! It’s me! Harry come back!” 

“Mahanon no!”

The barrier was hurting Mahanon. Pain was etched into every line in his skin, the tendons in his neck sticking out. It would kill him. Then Harry turned his head, seeing Mahanon. The spell he was casting cut, and he slumped into Mahanon’s arms, shaking with silent sobs. Mahanon reached up and grabbed the knife with shaking fingers, dropping it to the floor. Dorian turned to Mae, who was watching Harry as if he were a tiger about to pounce. 

“Mae what _was_ that? What is he?” 

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know.” 

Mahanon was rocking Harry gently, murmuring in elvish. Dorian exhaled, trying to settle the urge to get in-between them. Then Harry spoke, voice steadier than Dorian had ever heard it. 

“He carved lyrium into me. Wanted to make me stronger.” 

Dorian’s stomach turned to ice, a leaden pit in his stomach. Raw lyrium should have killed Harry.  Would kill any mage that came into contact with him. 

“You should-” Harry took a deep breath, choking back a sob. “You should make me tranquil.” 

Mahanon tightened his hold on Harry. “No.” 

He growled, even as he still shook with pain. Harry extricated himself from the elf gently, rising to his feet. He turned to Mae, eyes soft and pleading. 

“Please. I can’t control it. I’ll hurt you.” 

Dorian couldn’t get a read on her expression, though he saw her swallow. Considering it. Unable to control himself, Dorian went to Mahanon, helping him to his feet. Checking to make sure he was okay. The way the elf staggered into his chest, he knew he wasn’t. Dorian wrapped his arms around him, holding him upright. Still his eyes were on Harry. 

“Harry no. You can learn to control it. You can fight this.” 

Desperation. Dorian had never heard it so strongly in his voice. He tightened his grip. Harry turned to them, and reached for Mahanon. Dorian released him reluctantly, and Harry took his hands, touching his face. 

“I can’t Mahanon. I don’t want this. I’d rather die.” 

The elf shook his head vehemently. Dorian felt his his heart constrict and swallowed, turning to Mae. Who was watching him with concern. Before he could puzzle that out the door to the drawing room opened, a servant sticking their head in tentatively. 

“Madame Tilani? A messenger has arrived for Altus Dorian.” 

Dorian frowned. Now was not the time for this. Mae waved her hand for the servant to enter, carrying a letter. Alexius’ handwriting, shaky and blotted. Dorian didn’t notice the room had fallen silent as he read it, or even noticed that his hands started trembling as he read it. Which he had to do twice before it even registered. There was quite the roaring in his ears and he missed how he wound up on the couch, Mae and Mahanon calling his name. He looked up to see Mahanon’s eyes inches away from his own. Mae took the letter and Dorian buried his face in his hands. 

“Lethallin what is it? What’s happened?” 

Mae answered for Dorian, his tongue as numb as the rest of him. “It’s Felix. He and his mother were attacked by darkspawn. He’s been blighted.” 

~~

_No. Not Felix. Please not him._ Mahanon stayed kneeled before Dorian, hands loosely on his wrists. Dorian spoke softly. 

“I have to go back to Minrathous. I have to see him.” 

Which meant he couldn’t escort Mahanon home. Mae touched Harry’s arm. 

“You and I have much to discuss. Let’s leave these two to decide their plans.” 

Mahanon didn’t notice Harry’s light touch on his shoulder as they left. It seemed a long time of suffocating silence before Dorian spoke again. 

“I have to go back. I am sorry.” 

Dorian lifted his head. Mahanon moved one hand to his knee, the other to his face. 

"I trust you to free me after.” 

“Oh Mahanon.” Dorian shook his head. “You misunderstand. You’re still going. Your passage is booked. If you go back to Minrathous with me, you may never get out alive. I will not let that happen.” 

_Oh._ Mahanon opened his mouth, and closed it. He didn’t know what to say to that. Dorian covered Mahanon’s hand with his own, stroking the back of it with his thumb. 

“This is goodbye.” 

Mahanon didn’t expect that to hurt as badly as it did. Bad enough what happened to Felix. Now he was going to leave Dorian behind forever. To fight this war on his own. He didn’t have to think about his reaction. He crashed his lips into Dorian’s, biting and licking his way into his mouth. For once, Dorian didn’t fight him, kissing him back. _This is goodbye_. Mahanon didn’t want to break the kiss, wanted to hang onto it. But he pushed back gently, hands on Dorian’s chest. Both of them were panting, and Mahanon had to fight not to start it again. 

He need Dorian to _know._ “Tevinter doesn’t deserve you. You are far too good a man for this place.” 

Dorian pulled Mahanon into his arms, burying his head in his hair. “If anything about me is good, it is because of you and Felix.” 

“I wanted them to meet you you know. My clan.” 

“I would have liked that.” 

They sat like that for a long while. Mahanon tried to memorize it, the feel of Dorian’s heartbeat, the warmth of his body. _And all of this time I thought it was home I was missing._ At long last Mae and Harry came back in. Dorian only held Mahanon tighter. Before they all retired, the air strained with grief, Mahanon pulled away, taking Harry’s hand and leading him to the balcony. 

Harry bowed his head. “I don’t want this to be goodbye.” 

“I know.” 

The mage turned to him, puppy eyes back. “You want me to fight.” 

“Always.” 

Harry wrapped his arms around Mahanon’s neck, ducking to bury his face in his chest. Mahanon rubbed his back gently, throat constricting. 

“I’ll do it then. For you. I won’t forget.” 

Mahanon smiled, feeling hollow. One touch and he would fly apart. He went inside to say his goodbye to Mae, to thank her, before following Dorian up to his room. They didn’t kiss or speak. The weight of everything that could never happen between them settled, choking them with the grief over Felix. Mahanon just crawled into bed with him, letting Dorian pull him to his chest. If he slept that night, it was for no more than a moment. Dawn came all to quickly, forcing them out of Mae’s in grim silence. Dorian rode with him to the dock, the ship that was to take him home bobbing softly in the waters. Its sails flapped in the breeze, and Mahanon watched with detachment, his heart cold. The sea was lively, the sun warm on his skin, and the gulls called merrily. He didn’t care about any of it. 

He dismounted off of the horse, Dorian right behind him. Dorian glanced at the ship, face inscrutable. Then he cupped Mahanon’s chin, angling him upwards for a kiss. This time it was slow. Like Dorian was trying to map him out, leaving the desperation out of it. Then he pulled back, his smile forced. 

“I detest goodbyes Mahanon.” 

Mahanon’s lips twitched. “Then don’t say goodbye.” 

Dorian sighed and stepped back. “Go on then. Know that I hate you and will forget your existence the moment you leave my sight.” 

“I will miss you too ma vhenan.” 

Dorian’s eyes shone then, and Mahanon saw him physically restrain himself. “Go amatus. Before I am unable to stop myself.” 

Mahanon took one last, lingering glance before turning. He hefted his bag of meager belongings and forced himself to keep walking. It felt wrong. Every step he took towards home made him feel colder. Here he was, fleeing to safety, and leaving Dorian to fight a battle he would surely lose. _My battle._ Before he knew it he was at the gangplank to the ship, looking up. 

He didn’t want to go. He knew that with clarity. He wanted to stay, and fight. Even if it cost him his life. _Forgive me Sulahn._ Mahanon turned around and ran. Dorian hadn’t left yet. He was watching Mahanon, mouth open wide. Shaking his head. Mahanon grinned. 

“I’m staying.” 

“No.” He took a step towards Dorian, and the mage stepped back, holding up his hands. “No.” 

“You can’t stop me. You need me.” 

Dorian didn’t argue with that, just froze. Mahanon took another step towards him. Then dropped his bag. 

Dorian found his tongue again. “I can’t guarantee your safety if you stay. Or your freedom.” 

“You can’t even guarantee those for yourself.”  

“Exactly.” 

Mahanon tangled his hands in Dorian’s robes and pulled him towards him. “I don’t want to be safe.” 

Dorian broke then, kissing him roughly. Which was when Mahanon knew he’d made the right decision. 


	14. Gold-Lie Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure what triggers are here so check the tags again. It's a very bleak chapter so brace yourselves.

_"No-one round here's good at keeping their eyes closed_  
 _The sun's starting to light up when we're walking home_  
 _Tired little laughs, gold-lie promises, we'll always win at this_  
 _I don't ever think about death_  
 _It's alright if you do, it's fine_  
 _We gladiate but I guess we're really fighting ourselves_  
 _Roughing up our minds so we're ready when the kill time comes_  
 _Wide awake in bed, words in my brain,_  
 _'Secretly you love this do you even wanna go free?'_  
 _Let me in the ring, I'll show you what that big word_ _means"_ \- "Glory and Glore," Lorde

They arrived at Alexius’ mansion at sunset. Dorian stumbled off his horse, Mahanon jumping off his. He had let Dorian press them hard the last stretch. The only good thing about the journey back was they didn’t have to worry about Harry’s health. Well that, and Mahanon. The elf was the only thing keeping him going at this point, seemingly endless preserves of strength propelling him forward. His stomach was leaden as they entered the house. The slaves were subdued, and Alexius was nowhere to be found. Dorian led the way up to Felix’s room. Then he froze. 

“I don’t know if I can do this.” 

Mahanon grabbed his hand. “You can.” 

Dorian squeezed his hand gratefully and opened the door. It wasn’t as bad as he thought. Madeline was there, while Felix read in his bed. Her face was drawn, but she smiled when she saw Dorian and Mahanon. Felix looked up, smiling weakly. He merely looked tired, as if he had any illness. 

“You came.” 

Dorian huffed out a laugh. “You think so little of me.” 

Felix’s eyes landed on Mahanon, then their joined hands. Dorian didn’t let go. It was Madeline who broke the tension. She rose, smoothing her sari. 

“Mahanon you and Dorian must be hungry.” 

Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears, but she smiled again. Her grief sent a twinge through Dorian, a pain he’d been trying to avoid. Mahanon gave his hand another squeeze before following Madeline out of the door. It clicked shut behind them, and Dorian found Felix was watching him, eyes warm and understanding. A vicious, petty part of him wanted to strangle him for being so calm.  

“What is he doing here?” 

Dorian blinked. Then he realized Felix was talking about Mahanon. 

“Your mother is dead and you’re dying and you want to lecture _me_?” 

Felix’s face fell. “You don’t have to remind me.” 

Dorian threw his hands up in the air, irrationally angry. “How could you be so careless?” 

“I didn’t do this on purpose Dorian!” 

Felix ripped off his blankets and Dorian saw the bandages. His friend staggered to his feet, clutching his side. Then he pointed an accusatory finger at Dorian, making him flinch and step back. 

“You were supposed to take him home.” 

“You weren’t supposed to get yourself tainted.” 

Felix worked his jaw. Dorian knew he was in the wrong. He had never seen Felix so angry before, and he knew he deserved every bit of the man’s hate. 

“I thought you were better than this.” 

Felix stumbled and Dorian caught him without thinking, making him sit on the bed. He was paler than he had been, and he could hear Felix’s lungs rattle when he breathed in. Dorian braced his shoulders, anger gone as quickly as it had come. 

“He wouldn’t leave. I tried. I brought him to the ship, tried to make him go. He wouldn’t.” 

He was babbling a bit but he needed Felix to know. He couldn’t handle Felix, of all people, looking at him with revulsion. He sat next to him on the bed and Felix ducked his head. 

“You would fall for the one man more stubborn than you.” 

Felix’s voice was so broken even though he smiled. Then a sob escaped him. 

“Dorian…my mother…It was horrible.” 

Dorian wrapped an arm around Felix. It killed him. Felix had always been the better of the two of them. The one friend Dorian could always count on. Angry tears stung his own eyes, but he held them back. He was too late to save Felix, but he could at least be here for him. It felt like an age before Madeline and Mahanon returned. Madeline made a beeline for Felix, taking his face in both hands before pulling him to her chest. She was crying too. Dorian rose. He should check on Alexius, He and Mahanon left Felix and Madeline to their grief. That darker part of him was relieved, not wanting to deal with the pain. He didn’t even want to consider a world without Felix in it. Mahanon’s voice was soft. 

“One of the guest rooms is made up for us.” 

Dorian turned, finding Mahanon watching him with caution. With concern. He smiled weakly, but he was fooling no one. Mahanon reached for him, kissing him softly. When the tears fell he wiped them away. 

“Easy ma vhenan.” 

Dorian just ducked his head, burying his face in the crook of Mahanon’s next. The elf rubbed his head and back. At least he didn’t lie and say everything was going to be okay. When he pulled himself back together Mahanon kissed him again. Dorian rested his forehead to the elf’s. 

“Go eat and get some rest. I will join you. I should speak to Alexius alone.” 

“If you’re certain.” 

Dorian kissed his forehead. “I am.” 

Mahanon nodded and pulled away. Dorian watched him go down the hall, into their guest room. He was feeling the two weeks of hard riding, but he needed to check on his mentor. He found him in his study, pouring over their time traveling research. Dorian was surprised. He expected Alexius to do what he would have done, crawled inside of a bottle. Rather, Alexius seemed to be brimming over with energy, mumbling as he read, head snapping up when he heard Dorian. 

“Ah Dorian you have returned. How was Qarinus?” 

He raised his eyebrows. “Excellent. Beautiful weather, good food, no darkspawn to contend with. All of the hallmarks of a good trip.” 

If Alexius heard the quip about the darkspawn, he didn’t respond. Just spread his hands over his papers. Then he looked at Dorian, slightly manic. 

“With you back I think we can get the amulet to work.” 

Dorian debated letting him wallow in his denial. But Felix deserved better. 

“Sod the amulet Alexius. Felix needs you right now. You may not have noticed but he is quite ill.” 

Alexius waved him off. “I can make him better. He will be fine. If we get the amulet to work.” 

He gaped at his mentor. “Have you completely taken leave of your senses? There is no cure for this! No amount of magic or wishful thinking can save him!” 

At long last Alexius showed some emotion. The mania left him. He only looked tired, tracing some of his notes as he spoke. 

“Dorian I have lost my wife and mother of my only child. Try to understand I have not resigned myself to losing my son just yet. Please, leave me.” 

There was the smallest twinge of guilt combined with the return of his anger. Though if it was at Alexius, himself, or the darkspawn he did not know. He stomped back to the guest room, slamming the door behind him. Mahanon didn’t ask, didn’t speak as he came to Dorian, pulling him once more into his embrace. Dorian clung to him desperately, suddenly convinced if he let go, the elf or himself may fall straight off the face of the earth. 

~~

Mahanon wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew something was wrong. Perhaps, when it wasn’t Maurice and Henley standing outside of Magister Halward’s study, but two slaves he didn’t know. Perhaps when they entered, and the magister didn’t even seem angry. He treated Mahanon, once more, like he was part of the furniture. Or perhaps it was that Dorian’s mother was sober, eyes clear of their opium haze. But suddenly, he had the overwhelming urge to run, a voice screaming in the back of his head to get out. 

It was only later he would figure out it was too late to run the second he hadn’t gotten on the ship. 

Rather than running, he stood still. Dorian was looking his father in the eye, back straight. Unwavering. Mahanon was proud of him. But he couldn’t shake the sick feeling in his gut, the racing of his heart. _Get out._ But Dorian placed a hand on his back, and he knew he couldn’t. 

“While we were away I decided to free Mahanon. He remains in my service as a bodyguard, but he is no longer a slave.” 

Halward’s face didn’t change. He glanced at Mahanon, then went back to ignoring him. In truth, it was Dorian’s mother that scared him. Her eyes were stormy as she looked him over, making him feel like a slug. But the magister only waved his hand dismissively. 

“Very well.” 

That caught Dorian off-guard. Mahanon wasn’t as surprised. Mostly because he didn’t believe for one moment the man would let him walk around here free. Dorian must have caught the sense of danger that had Mahanon on pins and needles. He tilted his head. 

“Just like that Father?” 

It was his mother who answered, rising to her feet. She squeezed her fist and Mahanon fell to his knees, clutching his head. His mind became nothing but white, pain threatening to burn him out. It ended, and he collapsed, bracing himself with one arm and gasping for air. Dorian’s hands were on him, his voice a growl. 

“What are you doing?” 

Halward’s voice was firm, emotionless. “This is for your own good my son. I will not stand by while you throw your future away on this knife-eared whore.” 

Dorian rose, getting in between Mahanon and his parents. “I won’t let you kill him!” 

The pain started again. His scream was ripped out of him. He didn’t know when the two slaves came in. He wasn’t aware of them until the pain eased. Through the haze he had the sick feeling he knew what had happened to Maurice and Henley. He was numb as his hands were manacled again. 

“Dorian you will cooperate or we will kill him.” 

Dorian’s mother’s voice was soft. Gentle. Dorian fell to his knees, cupping Mahanon’s face. 

“Cooperate with what?” 

“There is a ritual. It will make you normal.”

Mahanon growled. “Dorian no! I would rather die.” 

Dorian’s face was pale, eyes wide. He turned his head. 

“You want to… _change_ me? With blood magic?” 

“It is the only way.” 

Their faces were grim. Mahanon hated them. Hated his own helplessness. Dorian turned to him, shaking his head. 

“I can’t watch you die.” 

His voice was a whisper, eyes full of despair. Mahanon shook his head, heart breaking. 

“You can’t do this. Not for me. It’s wrong.” 

Dorian kissed him roughly. Mahanon’s tears spilled over. He bit Dorian in his need for him. It was Dorian who broke the kiss. He rose, head bowed. 

“I’ll do it. If you promise to send Mahanon home.” 

Mahanon fought, straining against the manacles. His two guards held him back, when punching him the back of the head with a gauntleted fist. He saw stars for a moment. Dorian’s father handed him a cup, which he drank from, not looking at Mahanon. He didn’t know what was in it, but one drink and Dorian collapsed into his father’s arm, clutching his throat. His mother waved towards the guards. 

“Twenty lashes before he goes. Joana is waiting.” 

Mahanon shouted, seeing Dorian struggling against whatever drug they gave him. “No!” 

That time, it was the butt of a sword colliding with his head. His vision flickered and then went out. 

~~

Dorian tried to fight. Yet he could only watch when Mahanon was dragged out, slumped between the two new slaves. He had failed. Before they’d even gotten started. The concoction his father had given him made him stagger. He could barely stand, and his ability to use magic was gone. His father helped him stand, taking him out to the courtyard. Their slaves were gathered, silent as the grave as Mahanon was lashed to two posts, shirt ripped open. _No._ He tried to rise, tried to fight his father, but he was growing weaker by the second. 

It was his mother who raised the whip. She placed her hand on Mahanon’s bleeding head, healing him. The moment he woke he started struggling again. His mother bent and whispered in Mahanon’s ear. He saw the elf’s back stiffen. Dorian wasn’t sure what was worse, watching his back or his face. _Mahanon. Oh Maker._ He saw Athras, watching from the shadows. He saw the old elf’s look of triumph as the first crack of the whip sounded. Mahanon’s smooth back was split open, the blood staining the remnants of his shirt. Dorian couldn’t watch, nor could he look away. He was frozen, helpless. Again and again the whip fell, taking a piece of Dorian every time. 

It took ten for Mahanon to cry out. At fifteen he slumped, unconscious once more. That was when his father decided to speak. 

“This is what is best for you son.” 

Dorian couldn’t respond. Only be propped up like a doll, hoping his newfound hate for his parents showed in his eyes. The whip cracked again. His father sighed. 

“One day you will see.” 

_Crack!_ That meant three more. Dorian forced himself to watch, relieved and sick when at last, his mother hit twenty. Two elves detached from the crowd to untie Mahanon. Dorian’s father passed him off to his new guards. 

“See to it that he’s comfortable.” His father cupped his face. “I will bring you another dose tonight. Don’t be afraid.” 

If he thought he had known hate before, that moment convinced him was wrong. He couldn’t even strain his neck for a last glimpse of Mahanon before he was carried off. 

~~

Mahanon woke with a start, scared out of his wits. When he tried to rise he nearly blacked out from the pain. A voice he had hoped never to hear again called gently. 

“Hush. You are in no shape to move.” 

He was unable to hold back the whimper that escaped him when Harlan cupped the back of his head. He would sooner be laying in front of a dragon than Harlan. But the older man only shushed him again. 

“Easy wolfling. I am, believe it or not, here to help you.” 

He settled, only if to keep Harlan from seeing how close to throwing up he was. He recognized the mosaic walls of the bathhouse, and his nausea got worse. _Dorian. Fuck._ That almost got him struggling again. Harlan moved behind him, and he tensed. That was a mistake. The older elf sighed. 

“Relax.” 

“Vishante kaffas.” 

Harlan just smoothed something wet over Mahanon’s back. He was amazed when it numbed the skin. He hadn’t realized just how much pain he was in until it started to ease. Some of the tension went out of him and he could hear the smug smile in Harlan’s voice. 

“Do you believe me now?” 

“No.” 

Harlan continued to rub the poultice into his back. “I am not allowed to heal these with magic. That was the condition Joana bought you on. You’ll be happy to know you are worth one sovereign.”  

Mahanon grunted his response. Harlan continued on, either not caring Mahanon didn’t want to hear it. 

“I can keep these from killing you though.” 

_Why bother?_ Harlan finished his work. Then he grabbed a cup of water, pressing it to Mahanon’s lips. He hated it. Every bone in his body revolted at the idea of being at this man’s mercy. Harlan caught it. 

“I do wish you would stop looking at me like I’m going to take advantage of you.” 

“Isn’t that the point of a whorehouse?” 

An odd expression crossed Harlan’s face. Odd, because Mahanon had rarely seen any emotion from besides anger. He cupped Mahanon’s face, running a smooth, cold thumb over his cheek, tracing his vallaslin.  It was tender, jarring Mahanon’s raw nerves. He tried to bite Harlan but the man had learned, pulling away with a laugh. 

“Somehow I get the feeling I could snap your neck and your corpse would still try to bite me.” 

Mahanon snorted, discomfited. This side of Harlan was deeply unsettling. Harlan knelt so they were eye to eye. 

“I need your help.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “With what?” 

Harlan’s smile was mirthless, his teeth bared. “To kill my mistress and start a rebellion.” 

Mahanon gaped at him. Harlan lifted the water up again and Mahanon drank absently. Then he found his tongue. 

“What’s the plan?” 

Harlan’s chuckle was as joyless as the rest of him. “I thought we could start with a dagger and work our way from there.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome for hanging in this long with me. It's always darkest before the dawn right? All of the love to the readers, I hope I won't disappoint you. Also once again thank you to TheFaye92 for continuing to deal with my angsty writing.


	15. Morituri te Salutant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another bleak chapter, just letting you guys know.

_"Ave, Caesar, morituri te salutant." ("Hail Ceaser, those who are about to die salute you.")-_ Suetonis

 

Cassandra crested the hill, looking over the Divine’s camp. It was sprawling, massive, and she was relieved to be back. This journey was proving long enough without these side missions. Cullen stepped up beside her, face inscrutable as he looked over the camp. She wondered how much of his forced calm was his Templar training and how much was his impending lyrium withdrawal. Varric joined them, hefting his odd crossbow. Both men exchanged a look a Cassandra ignored them, descending at last. She removed her helmet, tucking it under her arm. 

“You know Curly if I didn’t know better I’d say our Seeker is happy.” 

She heard Cullen’s small huff of amusement as they followed her to Divine Justinia’s tent. It was embroidered with the shining sun and red background of the Chantry. Her heart lifted at the sight. The guards posted outside only nodded. They were Templars, still loyal to the Most Holy. Inside, Justinia was having her tea. Cassandra bent the knee with Cullen, and to her surprise, Varric. 

“Most Holy.” 

Justinia smiled. “Cassandra. Rise please.” 

Cassandra did. “This is the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall, Ser Cullen Rutherford. The dwarf is Varric Tethras, also of Kirkwall.” 

“Both of you, please stand. You are most welcome.” 

Both men kept their heads bowed in reverence. The Divine waved her hand. 

“Now if you will excuse us, I would speak with my Right Hand in private.” 

They left, Cullen looking slightly dazed. Cassandra resolved to speak with him later. For the moment she turned to Justinia. 

“What has happened since I have been away?” 

“Cassandra sit for a while. Give an old woman some company.” 

Cassandra didn’t sit. She did set her helmet down. Justinia seemed caught between amusement and exasperation. 

“Very well. I have had missives sent to both the rogue Templars and Mages. This conclave may yet prove our only hope.” 

She nodded, that was the news she’d been expecting. It may not work, but this conclave may well be their last chance for peace. Justinia’s eyes drifted to the sides of her tent, as if looking for something. 

“There is more.” 

“What is it?” 

Justinia pointed to a massive book on the table in the corner. Cassandra strode to it, running her finger over the symbol on the front. The Divine spoke softly. 

“Should the conclave fail, or should something happen to me before its completion-”She must have noticed Cassandra pursing her lips, laughing. “Dear girl you must accept it as a possibility. We must all return to the Maker’s side when he calls.” 

“Forgive me if I pray otherwise.” 

Justinia only carried on, sounding amused. “I want you to familiarize yourself with its contents. Should the worst come to pass, it will be up to you and Leliana to restore peace. Above all else, we must have peace.” 

Tension coiled in Cassandra’s gut. She would do as ordered, she always did. But concern for Justinia’s health, and for the future, settled like ice within her. Justinia sensed it. 

“Go to your rest Cassandra. The Maker will see to us.” 

“Yes Most Holy.” 

She was exhausted. But she had one more stop to make. She found him in his new tent, staring at his lyrium implements. Cullen barely noticed her entrance, eye flitting to her, and back to the case. They were almost honey-colored in the candlelight, grim and exhausted. 

He sighed. “This is my last dose.” 

She felt for him. “It does not have to be. We have Templars here. We have lyrium.” 

“I am aware. But this…is something I must do.” 

In another life, she may have reached out, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. In this one, she merely added on more prayer to her list as he lifted the bottle out of its case. 

“Maker guide you.” 

“You as well my lady.” 

~~

_He was alone. Dorian was alone, and surrounded by fog. He raised his hand, lighting a flame. It was small compared to the denseness of the fog. A shiver ran down his spine. Some part of him was struggling to wake up, but any control he had disappeared when he tried to grasp it. Something told him it was either keep going, or be stuck in these dank woods forever. It was quite like moving through molasses. After what felt like an age, he almost gave up hope he’d find anything but fog and trees. He was acutely aware of how silent it was. Lifeless._

_Which was when the wolf appeared. Black as the shadows it emerged from, padding softly towards him. Its eyes caught his small flame, green and predatory. He couldn’t run even if he wanted to, paralyzed by those eyes. The wolf lifted its lips, teeth long and white and oh so lethal-looking. It growled softly and he extinguished the flame. Dropping to his knees, he let the wolf approach. A hot surge of fear crawled its way from his belly to his throat as the beast approached._

_“You may as well get it over with.”_

_The wolf snorted softly, breath puffing softly over his skin as it sniffed him. Then, to his utter shock, it licked his cheek. Dorian felt his jaw drop._

_“What are you? A bloody dog behind all those teeth?”_

_The wolf head butted him in response and Dorian reached out tentatively, running his fingers through the rough fur. The beast was warm. The wolf head butted him again gently. Dorian wrapped his arms around its neck. The wolf growled softly but he recognized it for what it was. The creature stepped back, taking him with it. Once he was back on his feet, the wolf bit his hand softly then released it. Dorian snorted. Then the wolf growled, its hackles rising. Its head snapped towards the tree line. There was a sharp_ crack _and it ran off, abandoning him._  

He was numb as his mother woke him, making him sit up. She pressed another cup to his lips and he was powerless to do anything but drink, thirstier than he’d ever been in his life. His mother kissed his cheek and lay him back on the pillows, pressing a hand to his forehead. 

“Soon darling. It will all be over soon.” 

There was nothing he could do but sink back into sleep; he was out before she’d even reached the door. 

~~

Mahanon forced himself up, clutching his stomach. His back was on fire as he did. It was Lila who came to his aid. 

“Oh you stubborn ass. Harlan told you not to move.” 

He groaned. Lila helped him sit up, before pressing a hand to his brow. It had been a week since he had come to the bathhouse. A week of switching back and forth between pain and utter despair. The pain made him dizzy but he forced himself to stay up. Lila kept a hand on his arm, steadying him. While muttering a steady stream of curses that he found strangely endearing. It was than Harlan made an appearance with Taron. Seeing the former hunter hurt. His eyes were glazed over, and he kept blinking blearily. Whenever he got close, Mahanon could smell the sickly sweet scent of the opium. As it turned out, more than half of the slaves at the bathhouse were addicts. Joana even supplied it for them. 

Mahanon shoved it to the back of his mind as Harlan clucked his tongue, grabbing the jar of whatever it was he used to numb Mahanon’s back. 

“You are going to rip open your scabs.” 

He didn’t have the patience for another lecture. “Did you find anything?” 

Harlan sighed and waved Taron and Lila out. Taron was swaying. It was Lila who helped support his weight, walking him out. Mahanon wasn’t sure if the man knew he was there half of the time. He could practically feel the disapproval in Harlan’s gaze even as he started applying the salve. 

“I did. The ritual takes two weeks to prepare. The last three days they have to stop plying him with mage bane to purge it from his system. If they fail…well. It will end poorly.” 

Mahanon closed his eyes. That meant he wasn’t too late, though it created a whole new host of problems.  _One step at a time_. Harlan finished applying the salve. He rested his hand on Mahanon’s shoulder for a moment before pulling away. 

“I still think you would do better to forget about him.” 

He grunted, pressing his feet to the smooth tiles of the floor. Working the energy up to stand. Harlan kept talking. 

“What happens if you succeed? You really believe an Altus, a human, is going to stand by your side?” 

Mahanon stood, immediately grabbing for the nearest column. After a moment the dizzy spell passed. He gulped in air, trying to steady his heart. He shivered. The salve was freezing on his back, raising goosebumps. Triumphant he pushed off from the column slightly, turning to watch Harlan. 

“Will you stop me from going?” 

Harlan’s face was impassive. “I doubt I could.” 

For a moment, Mahanon remembered his uncle with a pang. They had had a similar conversation when he’d left for his last hunting trip. Six months before, but it felt like a lifetime. He pressed a hand to his chest, rubbing the ache away. Harlan raised one eyebrow, then tilted his head. 

“Soon then. We move soon.” 

He almost sounded happy. Mahanon snorted. 

“Careful. What will people think when you reveal yourself to have emotions?” 

Harlan stroked his chin. Then he smiled. Mahanon really wished he wouldn’t do that. 

“Lay back down. You’re no use to me if you bleed out. 

Mahanon grunted and acquiesced, if only because he was starting to feel the effects of laying around for a week with a shredded back. Harlan brushed a hand over his hair as he left, making Mahanon shudder. 

“You should eat.” 

He grunted, feeling his eyelids grow heavy.  _Hang on Dorian, please_. 

~~

He looked around the gathered slaves. Mahanon didn’t want to doubt them, but he didn’t have high hopes for a group where few had ever even held a weapon. Most were born to this life, and taught by word and harsh lesson how weak they were. Only Harlan had magic amongst them. The older elf looked downright predatory as he disappeared to begin the plan. Mahanon’s hands itched, as did the rough shirt on his still-healing back. Taron was equally restless next to him, shifting from foot to foot. Harlan had taken his opium away, and he was sweating. But his eyes were bright and sharp, and his hand was only trembling slightly as he examined the bow between his hands. He saw Mahanon watching him and gave him a wry smile, switching to elvish. 

“Something told me when we met that you’d be the death of me.” 

Mahanon returned his grin, mouth tight. “Well it was either going to be me or the humans.” 

“I would say ‘may the Dread Wolf never hear your steps,’ but I think it is far too late for either of us.” 

“Be that as it may, try not to get yourself killed.” 

Taron snorted and then Lila stepped next to him, frowning at the bow in her hands. “I haven’t held one of these since I was a child.” 

“Just aim the pointy end away from you. Or me.” 

Lila flicked Taron’s ear and glanced at Mahanon. “You can barely stand.” 

“We do this now or never little gnat.” 

She frowned, and then stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. He took it for what it was. A goodbye. At that, Harlan emerged at last, with a bound Joana walking before him. He’d fed her mage bane, and she looked almost frightened as Harlan dragged her out into the street. Winter was in the air, even in Tevinter, and the sun was setting. The street was still full of people though. Witnesses. Which made Harlan’s plan all the more terrifying, and for Mahanon, awe-inspiring. No one noticed them at first. He doubted the wealthy of the Imperium expected a bunch of bathhouse slaves to arm themselves. But when Harlan pushed Joana to her knees and started shouting, they took noticed. He lifted a dagger in the air, with all the conviction Andraste must have had on her pyre. His voice echoed as they moved through the street, amplified by magic. 

“Good citizens, scum of Thedas and those who choose to ignore the oppression occurring right in front of your eyes, I beg of you, ignore this!” 

With that he slit Joana’s throat, and lay her down to bleed to death his street. Then he stood, and smiled at the onlookers. The street exploded into chaos. Those with children ran, those with magic raised hands and staves. Mahanon raised one of his daggers. 

“Now!” 

On both sides of the street, heavy carriages were released, blocking the narrow passage off from both ends. Harlan grabbed the staff off of his back and lifted it to the air, releasing his signal. Then he went about trying to nullify the magic being cast at them. Mahanon could see soldiers already responding to the threat. The all too few amongst them that could use bows let their arrows fly. Still, it would have been the shortest rebellion in history if Harlan’s signal didn’t send answering ones into the sky. As it turned out, Harlan had been planning this for years. Since the first time Joana had forced him to lay with a Magister for her gain. 

Mahanon was more than happy to jump over their improvised barricade. He could avoid the mages for the moment, wreaking havoc on the normal soldiers. Helping punch a hole for their reinforcements. Taron and two others went with him. The former hunter was a terror, working out months of pain. Mahanon longed to lose himself to bloodlust, but forced himself to conserve his energy. He ducked from a soldier, avoiding getting his head lobbed off by slicing through the man’s thigh, blood spurting out of it. He felt a barrier sing to life over his skin and knew without looking it was Harlan. 

The next sword came for his heart. Mahanon danced away, grateful for the numbing salve on his back. He couldn’t bear armor, but he could move. He bent back before stepping close, going for an unarmored throat. He could only see the man’s eyes as he died. Then the ground rocked beneath his feet, making him and his next opponent freeze. All eyes were on the cloud of smoke coming from near the docks. Mahanon’s heart caught in his throat. That was where the main body of their reinforcements were supposed to be coming from, elves and humans that served the army. Growling he turned and rammed his dagger through the man in front of him’s armor, only to hear Taron cry out from his left. 

Mahanon turned but he was too late. Taron’s sword dropped from numb fingers, the soldier’s weapon run all the way through his stomach. Taron gasped as the man pulled the sword out with a sick sucking noise, and Taron fell. Mahanon threw his dagger before he could think, hitting the soldier in the eye. He went to Taron, but the man was already dead. Mahanon rose, pulling the dagger out of the soldier’s eye. Behind him, his second worse fear for the day reared its ugly head. A line of twenty Tevinter soldiers, and no reinforcements. A thousand slaves missing. Harlan was backing away, to Mahanon. The street in front of him was clear, but he knew it wouldn’t be for long. 

Harlan raised his staff. “If you are going to go, you must go now.” 

Mahanon looked from him to the ten or so slaves they had left. He couldn’t find Lila amongst the living. 

“You’ll all be killed.” 

Harlan just smiled that unsettling smile. “We were dead already. Go!” 

It felt like a betrayal, but he turned away. If anyone was going to help Dorian, it would have to be him, and it would have to be now. Swallowing as the sun set fully, he disappeared into the shadows. 

~~

Athras stood on the balcony, watching the city burn. He was disgusted. His master and mistress had both gone to help put down the slaves. Rumor had it it was the largest rebellion since Andraste’s. He snorted derisively. He had locked the rest of the household slaves into their rooms in the chaos, lest they get any ideas. It was just him, and he would never raise a finger against their masters. He had earned his place at their side for a reason. He supposed he should not be surprised when Lavellan appeared, sliding through the shadows. Blood stained his shirt black in the dark, and his nostrils flared as he moved through the courtyard. Towards Dorian. 

 _Well now that won’t do._  The mage bane would be out of Dorian’s system by now. If his hands were freed…He would escape. Athras could not allow that to happen. He went to his mistress’ room, grabbing a square glass case from its place. Inside lay an enchanted dagger, red light flickering across the black blade. He grabbed it and moved downstairs. Dorian was in the cellar, unguarded but for Athras in the chaos of the night. He heard their voices before they saw him. 

“You shouldn’t be here amatus. You’re bleeding.” 

“I am well aware. Dorian we need to go.” 

Athras turned the corner to find Dorian had his back to him, Lavellan wrapped in his arms. Were he the sentimental sort, he might see the moment as romantic. It was with regret he raised the dagger. But he was too slow. Lavellan saw him before he’d finished his throw, shouting and pushing Dorian out of the way. It struck him in the gut, the flash of magic lighting the dark cellar, bathing the three of them in red. Dorian shouted and suddenly Athras was in more pain than he’d ever known, flung into the wall. His vision was nothing but bright spots of color, and he could no longer feel his body. Then, he knew nothing at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I have no soul. I didn't really give this a set time before the start of Inquisition so I could have some wiggle room but now I'm thinking it started about a eight months to a year before the conclave.


	16. You Only Live Twice

_“You only live twice:_   _Once when you're born, a_ _nd once when you look death in the face.” -_ Ian Fleming

 

He’d broken Athras’ neck. He didn’t care. He bent to Mahanon’s prone form. He was still alive. Dorian could hear his breathing. He moaned and coughed up blood, hand on the dagger in his belly. 

“D-dori-an.” 

He knelt, hands trembling. “Don’t speak.” 

He went to pull the dagger and it burned him. Cursing Dorian gathered Mahanon into his arms, the elf shuddering. He thought quickly. Mahanon needed a healer, and they needed to get out of the city. He barely noticed his own weakness, legs trembling as he hurried up the stairs to his room. He grabbed his staff, birthright, and all of the money he could. Dorian kept checking Mahanon’s breathing and pulse. He was coughing up more blood than was coming from his wound. Dorian got him downstairs and to the stables. It was difficult to keep Mahanon in his arms and sit the horse, but they managed it. 

What he wasn’t expecting was the smoke, and the fires. He was riding in the opposite direction, thankfully. All of the way to Livia’s, the streets were distressingly empty. It was with dread he approached the mansion, not knowing if she’d be there, or if he’d find her father first. But Mahanon’s skin was losing color, his breath a rattle. He didn’t have time to track Livia down. Or anyone else. He pounded on the door, almost collapsing with relief when Livia answered. She blanched when she saw what he was carrying. 

“Liv I need your help.” 

“I can see that.” 

She guided him to her mother’s drawing room. Mahanon coughed up more blood and Dorian cringed. She took one look at the dagger and shook her head. 

“Vishante kaffas. That was forged with blood magic.” 

“It burned me.” 

He didn’t tell her the dagger was meant for him. _Mahanon if you die because of me…_ He didn’t finish the thought as Livia snapped her fingers in front of his face. 

“If you can’t focus I need you to get out.” 

He steeled his spine. “What do I need to do?” 

“Grab the dagger again. It’s going to burn you. But we need to pull it out before it kills him.” 

Dorian did it without hesitating. The pain he could handle, even as it lanced up his arm like lightning. It was Mahanon’s scream that tore at his heart. With a cry he pulled the dagger out and it disintegrated in his hand. He brushed the black dust off on his robes. Blood started welling from Mahanon’s wound and Livia rushed in, nearly shouting her healing spell. But it went wrong. Mahanon gave another shout of pain and the color drained from Livia’s face entirely. She fainted in Dorian’s arms, and Mahanon passed out. 

“Venhedis.” He shook Livia gently and she came back. 

“That was bad.” 

He guided her to the couch. “What _was_ that?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve never felt anything like that before. It was like…” She shuddered. “Like it was fighting back. There was a voice…” 

She shook her head. Dorian cupped her cheek before turning back to Mahanon. He pressed his fingers to the elf’s pulse. It was still there, if faint. Livia’s voice was a whisper. 

“I can’t do anything else. I don’t know if he’ll wake again.” 

Dorian forced himself not to panic. Not to shout at her to try harder. He checked Mahanon’s wound next. It was half-healed. The bleeding had stopped at least. But what the dagger had done to his intestines was anyone’s guess. If Livia couldn’t heal him, he was certain no one could. No one he could reach anyways. Livia got back on her feet, her color returning. 

“I can still treat his wounds the difficult way.” 

She placed a cool hand on his shoulder and he closed his eyes. His legs and hands were starting to tremble. But he could ill-afford to fall apart now. Mahanon needed him. 

“What happened to you Dorian? Felix said you haven’t been back to visit him. He was about to come find you.” 

“I would rather not speak of it.” He forced his voice not to break. “I need to get him out of the city. Tonight.” 

She rubbed his shoulder and went to fetch what she needed. “Was he part of the uprising?” 

“Uprising?” 

The look she gave him, searching and intense, made him duck his head. He got down on his knee, taking Mahanon’s bloodied hand in his own. Livia returned quickly with the bandages, gently pushing him to the side. 

“Two-thousand slaves rebelled. The Magisterium was warned ahead of time, everyone's in an uproar. The last I heard from anyone was it started at Joana’s. She’s dead, as are all of her slaves.” 

_Mahanon…_ He grabbed more tightly onto the mage. It was all his fault. Every inch of it. Livia caught the look on his face. 

“I can help you. My father has a ship waiting for us outside of the city. He said he’d rather deal with those ‘horned demons’ than stay in the city another moment once they deal with the trouble.” 

He looked at her in awe. “You would do that?” 

“You’re a good man Dorian, even if you don’t see it yet. You’re his only chance at surviving the night.” 

He knew that. He helped her bandage Mahanon and then accepted the provisions she provided. He was running on nothing, but he couldn’t quite stop for more than some tea and bread just yet. Once more he gathered Mahanon to him, wishing the elf would wake up. He was freezing. Rising he let Livia guide him to his horse, and then out of the city to safety. 

~~

_He was falling into blackness. He wanted so badly to let go this time. It was easier just to fall. Of course, that was not his fate._

_“Must you make a habit of throwing your life away?”_

_The soft blue of Compassion settled over him, cradling him. Holding him aloft._

_“Just let me go.” Mahanon murmured._

_“If that is your wish. You have fought very hard.”_

_He had the strong sense he was supposed to remember something. Compassion left him, but he was no longer falling. He could hear a voice, murmuring to him. Begging. He knew if he struggled, he could reach the voice. But he was so tired. Compassion returned._

_“‘Please wake up. Don’t let this be the end.’  He’s watching over you.”_

_The name came to him slowly, drifting through his sluggish mind. “Dorian.”_

_Dorian. He could live for Dorian he thought. The dream sharpened from Compassion’s pale blue light to something more substantial. The gentle rocking of a ship. He felt like he was falling again._  

Mahanon woke with a small gasp. It hurt so much. When he opened his eyes, they landed on Dorian. He looked so afraid. Mahanon reached up and touched his cheek, not quite believing he was awake. Dorian’s mouth dropped open slightly, like he didn’t believe it either. _How long was I out?_ He cleared his throat. 

“Water.” 

It hurt to speak. His lips were chapped to the point of bleeding and his throat burned. Dorian blinked and nodded. 

“Of course amatus.” 

Mahanon realized he was on his side, and they were on a ship. Most of the pain was coming from his stomach. Some from his back. Dorian came back with a water skin and helped him sip it, cradling the back of his head. Just that much was difficult. He lay back down, cringing. Dorian seemed on the verge of tears, his eyes too shiny. Mahanon tried to smile, to reassure him. It didn’t work. He reached out again and Dorian took his hand. 

“We are safe enough if you want to go back to sleep.” 

Mahanon didn’t want to sleep. He was too afraid. His body wasn’t giving him much to work with though. Dorian brushed his lips over his knuckles.

“I’m here. I’ll protect you.” 

He did manage a smile then, before he closed his eyes. “Ma vhenan.” 

~~

They fell into a pattern. Mahanon woke long enough to get water and sometimes broth down, then usually fell asleep. He lost track of how many days they spent like that. All he knew was every time he woke up, Dorian was there. 

At last came a day when he could sit up. He woke to Dorian next to him in the bed, reading. Keeping watch. He reached over and wrapped his fingers around Dorian’s arm, reassuring himself they were both there. Firm, warm flesh met his touch. Solid. He smiled again. Using Dorian he lifted himself up. He was dizzy and Dorian caught him, wrapping one strong arm around his shoulders. His back was better. His stomach was raw and tender and Dorian forced him to settle back on some pillows. 

“You do not need to be moving.” 

“I can’t just lay here the rest of my life.” 

Dorian got out of bed and grabbed the water he kept on the nightstand. “You can until you no longer resemble the butcher’s best cut of meat.” 

Mahanon drank deeply and handed the cup back. “Best cut eh?” 

“Not an accomplishment to be proud of amatus.” Dorian chided gently. 

He pressed a hand to his stomach, over the wound. “No I suppose not.” 

Dorian picked up the tray of food of the table and Mahanon glanced around the room. He hadn’t taken much interest in their surrounding until that moment. This cabin was large and roomy. It bothered him, but he couldn’t quite grasp why. Then Dorian set the tray down in front of him and he grinned broadly. 

“I get meat?” 

“You would not stop your incessant whining yesterday.” 

He only vaguely recalled that. He couldn’t help it. Even with as much pain as he’d been in, he was hungry for more than the broth Dorian kept forcing down him. He glanced at the meat and bread on his plate, with the small bowl of broth next to it. The meat had certainly seen better days. He tried dunking the bread in the broth first, not missing Dorian’s snort. _Just take it slow._ The bread settled like glass in his stomach and he knew the meat was out. Sighing he sipped at the rest of the broth. Dorian watched him the whole time, pretending he was reading. Mahanon finished, feeling exhaustion drag at him again. But he had questions that needed answers. 

“Dorian what happened? Where are we going?” He glanced around the cabin, then realized why it bothered him. “Shouldn’t this be the captain’s quarters?” 

Dorian took the tray from him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “You were stabbed was what happened. We are currently on a ship heading for the blighted Free Marches. And yes. These are the captain’s quarters, paltry as they are.” 

He was rubbing Mahanon’s arm, the motion making his eyelids drag. Mahanon fought it. 

“Dorian.” 

The mage sighed. “What do you remember?” 

Too much for his liking. He remembered Taron dying, and the despair of watching their rebellion crumble before it even really started. The desperate crawl to the Pavus mansion as his back opened up, and hiding from soldiers. Of freeing Dorian. 

“I remember unbinding you. Then nothing.” 

Dorian was silent for a moment, hand running through Mahanon’s hair. It was far too long for his liking. He made a mental note to ask Dorian to help him with it later. For now he reveled in the warmth of Dorian’s arms, waiting for his answer. 

It came slowly. “Athras had an enchanted dagger. He meant to use it on me. You pushed me out of the way. That was bloody stupid of you by the way, I’ve been meaning to lecture you about it.”

Dorian shivered, face not matching his tone of voice. Mahanon pushed himself up, searching. For the first time since he’d first woken up, Dorian looked vulnerable. He took a deep breath and soldiered on. 

“I killed him and took you to Livia. She got us out of the city, paid our way. As for our quarters I bribed the captain for them.” 

Mahanon took a moment to process that. Then he sat up fully and pulled Dorian’s head to his chest, overwhelmed. The fact Dorian had just lost everything was not lost on him. 

“This is my fault. I should have made you get on that ship. Can…” His voice broke and Mahanon felt his tears. “Can you ever forgive me?” 

Mahanon held up tightly. “Oh ma vhenan.” 

He rubbed Dorian’s hair like Dorian had rubbed his, letting him fall apart. He’d earned the right to, after everything. 

“You are so brave Dorian. You saved me. We’re safe now because of you.” 

He repeated the words over and over. Dorian cried so quietly. Mahanon continued to rub his hands over him, kissed him, held him. Loved him. He kept the words to himself, something to disentangle later. He just held Dorian until he fell asleep. Mahanon knew he hadn’t slept well since Qarinus. He fought off the rush of emotion, pressing his nose into Dorian’s hair. They were safe enough for the moment. The rest could wait. 

~~

Dorian was busy losing his breakfast over the railing of the ship. The crew had laughed at him the first few times it had happened. Now they just ignored him. He wiped his mouth and settled against the wood, watching the dolphins leap ahead of them. He’d always wondered about the creatures, filled with boundless life as they jumped ahead. His mother used to tell him stories of drowning sailors being carried by dolphins after their ships were wrecked. A sour taste that had nothing to do with his seasickness sat heavy on his tongue. If he never thought of his mother and father again, it would be too soon. Just as he was about to go in, a voice behind him made him freeze. 

“I must admit, I find the fact you get seasick amusing.” 

He turned to find Mahanon, supporting himself on the mast. He looked far too pleased with himself. Dorian was both happy to see him up and about and sorely tempted to throw him over the railing for pushing himself to hard. Mahanon staggered towards him, forcing Dorian to open his arms and catch him. Mahanon made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. 

“I may have pushed myself too far.” 

Dorian rolled his eyes. “I think I have met rocks more astute than you amatus.” 

Mahanon huffed into his shirt. “I needed some air.” 

“I could have carried you up.” 

“I wanted to see if I could do it myself. Which, I did.” 

Dorian snorted, not ready to let the elf go. The part of him that wasn’t irritated _was_ happy Mahanon was fighting so hard to get better. He had expected nothing less from the man. Mahanon pushed away from him slightly. 

“How is your stomach?” 

Dorian pressed his hand to Mahanon’s stomach. “Better than yours I suspect. I must say once we get off this ship I will be more than happy to never see set foot on another.” 

Mahanon laughed, pulling away to lean on the rail. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you about that.” 

“Forcing me onto another ship?” 

“About what happens next.” Mahanon tilted his head. “What in the world am I looking at?” 

Dorian tried to hide his sudden panic at the word _next_. The future was a vast, yawning void he shied away from. 

“They’re called dolphins.” 

“They look like sharks.” 

“They are much less likely to nibble on delicious elf flesh, or so I’ve heard.” 

Mahanon gave him a wry glance. “What happens when we reach land Dorian?” 

He settled on the railing, trying to swallow his emotion. “That depends on you. I imagine you’ll want to go back to your clan.” 

“I do miss them.” 

Dorian kept his eyes on the horizon. That was why he didn’t want to think about what happened when they got off the ship. He’d take Mahanon home and then be alone, drifting with no family, money, or purpose. Mahanon took his hand, the warmth returned to it. Returned to him. 

“So we go back to my clan. Then what?” 

Dorian forced himself to look at Mahanon. The elf seemed to see right through him, stripping him bare. Mahanon squeezed his hand. 

“We’ll figure it out. Together.” 

Emotion rose in his chest, choking him. Mahanon kissed the back of his hand. 

“I only just got you Dorian, I’m not about to let you go.” 

He swallowed thickly. “Who says you have me?” 

“That sappy look on your face when you call me amatus.” 

Dorian frowned. “I do _not_ get a sappy look on my face.” 

Mahanon opened his mouth to argue but winced instead. Dorian swept him off his feet in one swift motion, making the elf growl. 

“I can walk!” 

Dorian ignored him, and the looks from the crew, and began carrying him to their cabin. They were going to miss the gold he’s spent convincing the captain to let him “borrow” it, but it had proven worth their while. Mahanon cursed him out the whole time, switching between elvish, Tevene, and even a word he was certain was Qunlat. Dorian chuckled, knowing the elf was definitely on the mend if his ire was anything to go by. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look this chapter is not a big ball of angst! Thank you guys so much for bearing with me through those last two. And to TheFaye92 for her continuing beta.


	17. Everything's Better with Some Wine

_"Everything's better with some wine in the belly."_  -George R.R. Martin

 

Dorian folded his arms, letting his displeasure show. Mahanon grinned at him and grabbed the ropes anyways. 

“Should you fall and snap your neck-”

“Don’t worry Mamae I’ll be fine.” 

The former Dalish, now pirate, that was guiding him up the ropes snorted. “I make no promises. Mayhap you should listen to him.” 

Mahanon decided not to mention to Dorian that the pirate, Cymet, wore the marks of Falon’Din. He leaned his head back to look at Dorian upside down, grinning again. 

“Maybe you should kiss me for luck.” 

Dorian flushed slightly and Mahanon felt a twinge of guilt. He knew Dorian was used hiding his relations with men. He hadn’t meant to make him uncomfortable. So he was surprised when the mage crushed their lips together, the fierce affection nearly making him let go of the ropes. Dorian broke the kiss, shaking his head. 

“The sooner you accomplish this feat the sooner you can get the ridiculous notion out of your system.” 

Mahanon chuckled and began following Cymet up. Climbing the crow’s nest had been his goal since his first day on deck. The second he knew his back wouldn’t tear open again he’d talked Cymet into letting him try climbing. They’d sail into Ostwick in a matter of days, and he was finally feeling strong enough to climb to the top of the mast. Or so he hoped. He loved the feel if it. It was exhausting work, leaving him trembling by the time he hit the deck. But it kept him from succumbing to sorrow, gave him something to focus on besides the future and the past. There was only room for putting one hand in front of the other. The wind picked up, roaring in his ears and tugging at his hair where Dorian hadn’t shaved it off. About halfway there, he paused and looked down, eyes searching for Dorian. 

Cymet glanced down at him. “You fly off yet?” 

“Your faith in me is overwhelming.” 

“Want me to hold your hand or can we keep going?” 

Despite the fact the pirate was only five years his senior, if that, Mahanon let the baiting work. It was what he liked about the man’s company. He was tougher than a leather shoe and refused to coddle Mahanon. Something he needed almost as much as Dorian’s affection. He didn’t look down again until, at long last, they made it to the top. He could feel the rocking of the ship much more strongly, and the rush of wind. His heart was hammering in his ears and his stomach dropped as he took in the view. Then he grinned from ear to ear and let out a whoop. Cymet rolled his eyes. 

“Congratulations. You didn’t do too bad for an invalid.” 

Mahanon ignored him, triumphant. Then he shivered as sweat cooled on his brow. The horizon held a threatening line of black clouds. It was still autumn, they would miss the worst of the winter storms. But the one brewing in front of them unnerved him. Cymet whistled. 

“We better get down. Your man is going to electrocute me if we stay up to much longer.” 

He snorted. Cymet was probably right. He took one more moment, and swore he could see lightning flickering over the clouds.  _That’s probably my cue_. The climb down was not so difficult, but he was more eager. When his feet hit the deck Dorian was there and Mahanon smiled at him, more mindful of touching him. Dorian surprised him again, grabbing his shirt and firmly pushing him towards their cabin. He closed the door and pressed Mahanon to the wall, kissing him roughly. Possessively. Mahanon returned it, biting his lip before Dorian broke off, eyes stormy. 

“Don’t do that again.” 

“Will you keep kissing me like that if I promise not to?” 

Dorian sucked a bite into his neck in response, drawing a growl from Mahanon. The mage kissed it to soothe it, before lifting his head. Mahanon grinned. 

“Very well. I won’t climb any masts on this ship the rest of the journey.” 

He caught on to Mahanon’s meaning and held up one finger. “Perhaps I was a tad bit hasty.” 

Mahanon bit his finger gently, regretting the twinge of pain in his gut and his exhaustion. Not to mention the sudden intrusion of an image of Sulahn’s black eyes. He cupped Dorian’s neck, kissing him softly before pressing their foreheads together.

“I think I need to go back to sleep.” He sighed.  

Dorian hid his disappointment rather well. He picked Mahanon up, something he was getting far too much pleasure out of doing, and tucked him into bed. Mahanon was out before Dorian could even open the captain’s copy of  _Hard in Hightown_. 

~~

The storm came and went, and to Dorian’s surprise and pleasure, didn’t sink them. When it blew out, Mahanon dragged him to the deck, to watch the sunset. With each passing day he was stronger, though with that he became more keyed up. Paranoid. Tense when he wasn’t doing something foolish like climbing the blasted mast. He flinched when one of the pirates moved too quickly around him. Dorian knew he was having nightmares, and he wouldn’t take his shirt off at all. Not even when they were alone. 

Dorian was at a loss for how to help him. He felt raw himself, exposed and vulnerable. He was terrified of what would happen when they reached land, as badly as he wanted off the ship. It was not his first trip out of the Imperium, but it was his first foray into true exile. He still wasn’t convinced Mahanon wouldn’t move on once he was safe and home. And Dorian knew he wouldn’t blame him if he did. 

That was the bleak color of his thoughts, even as the sunset painted the sky and water. Watching the tense set of Mahanon’s shoulders as he leaned on the railing, Dorian wrapped his arms around him, shielding his back from the pirates. The elf relaxed into him, shivering slightly. He was still tense, his ears twitching slightly at the pirates behind them. Dorian rested his chin on his shoulder.

“Tell me your pantheon again.” 

Mahanon snorted. “You realize there isn’t going to be a test right?” 

“I thirst for knowledge.” 

“You thirst for many things ma vhenan. Where’d we leave off?” 

He knew Dorian was trying to distract him. Dorian smiled. 

“With Falon’Din I believe.” 

“Falon’Din is the one who guides our dead to the afterlife. His brother is Dirthamen. They are the eldest children of Elgar’nan and Mythal. His lust for power was said to be so great, he started wars until Mythal rallied the others and forced him to surrender.” 

Dorian mulled that over. “And Dirthamen?” 

“The Keeper of Secrets. He is the master of the ravens Fear and Deceit, since he outsmarted both of them. Sulahn told me once Dirthamen gave each creature a secret. Only the hares shouted theirs from the trees, the birds sold theirs for gold, and the foxes traded theirs for wings.” 

Dorian snorted. “Why would a fox long for wings?” 

“To fly of course. Don’t interrupt.” Mahanon smiled though and Dorian kissed his temple. “Only the bears kept their secret, thus they are the beloved of Dirthamen.”  

Then Mahanon bit his lip. “He’s not just Falon’Din’s brother. Dependent on who you ask, they’re not even blood. They’re…the shem translation is ‘twin souls.’” 

“‘Twin souls?’” 

Mahanon nodded. “Falon’Din is the shadow of Dirthamen, and Dirthamen is the reflection of Falon’Din.” 

Dorian tilted his head. “Like a soul mate?” 

“No. Well, possibly. The Keeper always said it was an unbreakable bond, not romantic. The strongest sort of friendship.” 

“Secrets and Death, seems a fitting pair.” 

Mahanon huffed a quiet laugh. Dorian pulled him closer, somehow. They spoke of the gods until the sun set fully. Then they watched the stars come out, fading into silence. It was one of those moments that gave Dorian hope, a dangerous creature, that things may work out between him and Mahanon. The pirates went to find their supper, and it was only the two of them with the stars and gentle waves lapping against the ship. After a long moment of silence, Mahanon sighed. 

“Come on if we hurry they’re may be some moldy bread left.” 

Dorian could feel the elf’s stomach growling under his hands. “We need to get off this boat before I start eating you.” 

“Well if you insist we can always skip dinner and go straight to-” 

Dorian grabbed his shoulders and pushed him towards the galley. “I am  _not_  taking you back to your clan half-starved.” 

Mahanon chuckled again as they made their way off the deck. Dorian found himself smiling back.  _Well at least I make him laugh._  

~~

At long last, they reached Ostwick. Mahanon almost stumbled into a cantankerous pirate when they stepped off of the gangplank. Cymet laughed behind him. Dorian’s mustache twitched but he looked away. Mahanon made a rude gesture towards Cymet and that was the last he saw of the pirate before they moved into the city. They had little money, the clothes on their backs, Dorian’s amulet and staff, which was bundled up in cloak for the moment, an empty pack and Mahanon’s daggers. As they moved through the crowd, Dorian sighed. 

“What I wouldn’t give for a bottle of wine and a hot bath.” 

Mahanon thought about it. “We have the money for supplies, and a room in a tavern tonight. I can hunt for us on the road.” 

Dorian looked so relieved Mahanon had to fight his own smile. They could figure this out. He was sure of it. Even if they were already drawing unwanted attention. Mahanon could feel eyes on the back of his neck, pricking his skin. The urge to draw his daggers made his fingers twitch. He hadn’t guessed how much being in a crowd would bother him. By the time they found sleeping skins at a tanner’s, a pack and cloak for Mahanon, and the other odds and ends they would need, he was practically twitching with the need to get away from the city. It didn’t help when they got turned away from the first tavern on the grounds “they didn’t serve knife-eared thieves.”  Once outside Dorian shook his head.

“Well that was rather rude.” 

Mahanon grunted. “The perils of traveling with a Dalish elf.” 

Dorian touched his arm gently. “Would you feel better if we left the city now?” 

He would. But they didn’t have the money for horses and it was already mid-afternoon. That, and he’d promised Dorian a room. 

“This might be our last chance at a bed for a while.” 

He didn’t meet Dorian’s eyes, just pressed ahead. The same thing had happened at the second tavern. At the third, with the charming name ‘The Drunken Druffalo,’ they managed to grab the last room just as the sun was setting. It was an attic room that had certainly seen better days. Dorian took one look at the mattress and waved his hand over it. Steam rose from it and Mahanon snorted before dropping his things and collapsing onto it. He could feel the waves of the ocean still. He found that oddly soothing as Dorian stripped to his chest, frowning at the water in the wash basin. 

“If this is how the other half lives…” 

Mahanon snorted. “My clan doesn’t exactly live in a palace Dorian.” 

Dorian heated the water until it too was steaming. He seemed hesitant, unsure. 

“I suppose I’ll get used to it. If it’s between that and being alone…” 

Mahanon propped himself up on his elbows. “Oh I see. Here I thought you were traveling with me because you liked me.” 

Dorian started, dropping the cloth he’d been bathing with and turning angrily. “I  _am_  traveling with you because I…” 

At Mahanon’s wicked grin he cursed and turned back to his bathing. He was fairly certain he heard Dorian mumble something about a ‘jumped up elves’ and felt his lips twitch. He  _had_  been wondering if Dorian was with him because he wanted to be, or because he had nowhere else to go. Now it seemed he had his answer. He got off the bed and wrapped his arms around Dorian’s waist, pressing his nose to his back. He smelled good, somehow managing to still smell of parchment and worn leather. Mahanon was worried about any number of things, but if he could have more moments like this with Dorian, he thought it may just work out. 

Dorian hummed as he continued his ministrations, before turning and dropping the cloth on Mahanon’s head. 

“Your turn. You smell like a pirate.” 

Mahanon removed the cloth, looking down at his new shirt. They’d had to replace the old one since it was still covered in his blood. He plucked at it, frowning. Dorian clapped his hand over his eyes.

“I’m not looking.” 

Mahanon laughed, pleased he didn't have to ask, and pressed a brief kiss to Dorian's lips before pulling his shirt off. The insane voice in his head that decided he was in love tried to make itself heard again. As he turned back to the wash basin, he realized it was getting harder to ignore. 

~~

Before they went down to the common room, Mahanon stopped Dorian by grabbing his arm, suddenly looking very serious. 

“Given everything going on, I would ask you don’t use magic in front of anyone other than me.” 

Dorian frowned. “You would have me defenseless.” 

“I would have you safe. I’m not sure what rogue Templars, or even normals shems, will do to a mage.” 

“I did not flee south in order to live a different sort of lie.” 

Mahanon’s eyes softened, and he released Dorian’s arm. “I only want to protect you. I can’t should an angry mob decide to string you up. The best I can hope for is that they string me up with you.” 

Dorian felt some of the fight go out of him. “I do look rather good in rope.” 

“Well I don’t. You may not know this about me but I don’t enjoy being bound against my will.” 

He hated it when Mahanon made jokes about like that. The elf just gave him that grin again, though his eyes were still soft. 

“Vishante kaffas. Very well I shall neuter myself for your benefit.” 

He was rewarded with a kiss on the cheek. “That’s all I ask.” 

Dorian tried to flick his ear but the elf dodged, going towards the door. Stomach growling, he had no choice but to follow. He thought he’d be the pariah in the room, but hardly anyone glanced at him, too focused on Mahanon. Dorian wished he could hide him better. Keep him in the room at least. Eventually though, most of the patrons lost interest and went back to their cups. The stew on the menu turned out not to be  _that_  bad. Mahanon ate enthusiastically and Dorian was glad to see it. The sour wine even got better the more he drank of it, and he managed to eat his whole bowl and get pleasantly drunk with the elf.

Glancing around the room, he eyes the other people with interest. At one table sat a couple he found endearing. He couldn’t quite see the face of the man, hidden as he was under the hood of his cloak. His dark beard stuck out though, as did the bright flower he was giving his lady. Her pale face was lit with delight, blue eyes dancing in the light of the tavern. She was dressed far too well for a hole like this, making him think of a bird. The man on the other hand was dressed far too plainly for such a lady. He had the feeling he knew why the man was cloaked, and suddenly holding the lady’s hand with desperation. Dorian turned away at that. 

He went back to watching Mahanon. The elf had taken a table close to the wall, pressing his back to it. He was armed under his new cloak, Dorian knew. Even with the drink, he never stopped watching the door. He wondered if it was a habit from before becoming a slave, or after. It took him a moment to realize Mahanon had stopped responding to him, and was staring at someone across the common room. He had grabbed his spoon so tightly his knuckles were white, eyes downright murderous. 

Dorian turned his head. “What? Who do you see?” 

Mahanon’s voice, when it came, was a low growl. 

“The man who enslaved me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah to wrap up part two we're finally going to deal with fucking Larson. Okay so I had a long debate with myself about when to stop this story. Finally decided just to end part two with Chapter 18 and go ahead and start part three with Chapter 19 instead of splitting it into a sequel. Just thought I'd let you guys know. Once again thank you for all of the support, you guys have gotten me almost to 1500 kudos over all of my works. (I may do a oneshot to celebrate but I also have a research paper due so we'll see.) Once again thank you to TheFaye92 for being an excellent beta and friend and I hope you guys enjoy this next chapter as much as I do.


	18. Good Men Don't Need Rules

_“Good men don’t need rules. Today is not the day to find out why I have so many.” -Steven Moffat_

 

If Mahanon hadn’t recognized Larson’s face, he would have recognized his ironbark ring on the man’s sausage-like fingers. He barely heard Dorian’s question as Larson turned, their eyes locking as recognition flashed in the man’s sharp eyes. A lazy, cruel smile spread across his features. Mahanon bared his teeth in response. He felt Dorian’s hand on his thigh, steadying him. He slid his dagger out of his sleeve and into his hand. Larson made his way over, and Mahanon’s eyes strayed to the rings on his fingers again. That was definitely his on the pinky. He decided he was going to get it back even if he had to cut off the finger. It was the only thing he’d ever owned he considered precious. Larson, cup in hand, staggered right up to the table. 

“So you’re still alive eh? Who’s this? Your master?” 

Dorian stiffened, hand tightening on his leg. “No but I hear you’re the cur that kidnapped him.” 

Larson shifted his gaze to Dorian, letting his eyes linger and his voice rise. “Tell me Vint is your little cockwhore for sell?” 

Mahanon growled and jumped to his feet. They’d managed to draw the attention of half of the patrons. He hated being the center of attention. Hated more he had yet to slit Larson’s throat. He drew his dagger and it was Dorian who stopped him, hand gentle on his chest. Mahanon’s eyes snapped to his. The mage’s face was stern. 

“Not here.” 

Mahanon shook him off as Larson reached for his sword. “I should ‘ave run you through like the dog that you are.” 

“Yes you should have you fu-”

The tavern keeper, a big bear of a man who towered over everyone in the room, shoved Dorian aside and grabbed Mahanon and Larson both by the back of their neck, lifting Mahanon. 

“No killin’ in this establishment.” 

Then he gathered both of them and threw them outside. Mahanon rolled, on his feet and daggers out as soon as he gained his footing. Larson fared worse, but half of the crowd, Larson’s friends and Dorian amongst them, spilled outside in a flush of light and noise. Larson seemed to remember Mahanon had killed his brother. And that he had been severely outnumbered at the time. 

Mahanon kept his eyes on the lout, circling him. Letting him draw his sword. He exhaled through his nose, letting the hate keep him alert but not clouding his thoughts. Then he let Larson swing first. The man growled and swung like he was chopping wood. Mahanon sidestepped him and slashed over his ribs before dancing away. Larson worked his jaw, ignoring the gash. Mahanon took the briefest moment to look at the crowd, wondering why Larson’s friends weren’t coming to his aid. He saw a flash of coin and realized with disgust it was because they were taking bets. 

“Gut that fuckin' rabbit Lee!” 

“Get ‘em knife-ear!” 

Then there was Dorian, eyes as dark as a storm, standing apart from the others. Mahanon tore his eyes away as Larson charged him again. This time Mahanon gave him a cut to his right leg, dodging him again. Larson stumbled to his knee, clutching his leg. He was panting, looking at Mahanon with genuine fear. Mahanon growled at him. 

“On your fucking feet.” 

Larson’s face hardened. “You don’t even have the stones to finish the job.” 

Mahanon smiled, making Larson flinch and look away. He got to his feet, grabbing his sword with both hands. He attacked the same way, lifting the sword above his head. This time, Mahanon lifted one hand to guard, cutting through Larson’s hand with his other dagger. Larson dropped his sword with a curse, falling to his knees as his pinky and half of his ring finger fell onto the stones next to him, a couple of rings hitting with a clatter next to them. Mahanon wondered if they all came from his victims, and grabbed Larson’s shirt, pressing his dagger to his throat. Larson kept his hand pressed into his shirt, pupils blown wide with fear. 

“Beg.” 

The big man blanched. “What?” 

Mahanon shook him. “You heard me. Beg me for your sorry life.” 

“P-p-please. Don’t kill me. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

Mahanon pressed the blade to his throat, drawing a thin line of blood. His own blood was pounding in his ears, and all he could see was Taron’s opium-glazed eyes and lifeless corpse. He threw Larson to the ground, and sheathed his daggers. Larson curled into a pathetic ball, clutching his wounded hand and whimpering. Mahanon bent and peeled off his ring from the detached pinky before tossing it to one of Larson’s stunned friends. 

“If you find him a decent healer they might be able to reattach that.” 

He pushed past them to Dorian, who cupped his face in both hands, looking him over for injury. Mahanon let his fingers wrap loosely around Dorian’s wrist, searching his eyes for approval or acceptance, or anything. Dorian gestured with his head towards the door. The tavern keeper was there, arms folded as he leaned against the doorframe, face hard. But he stepped aside for them. When Mahanon got through the door to their room he started shaking. 

~~

Dorian closed the door behind him and found Mahanon was trembling. He pulled the daggers off of Mahanon’s back, let them fall gently to the floor, and then gathered the elf in his arms. Mahanon’s voice was muffled as he buried his nose in Dorian’s robes. 

“Should I have killed him?” 

Dorian rubbed his arms. “I don’t know amatus. If it will make you feel better I’ll track him down and do it myself.” 

Mahanon let out a choked laugh. “I don’t think it would. So many have died because of me already.” 

“Is that what you think?” Dorian cupped his chin, lifting it. “What you and the other slaves attempted was incredible. Nigh-impossible odds and you did it anyways.” 

“Then I ran away to save you. I abandoned them.” 

Mahanon pulled away. Dorian didn’t know what to say to that. It cut to the quick. 

“Do you regret it so deeply?” 

The elf’s head snapped up. “Never. I could never regret saving your life.” 

Dorian met his eyes again, finding them as vulnerable as he felt. They were both exposed nerves, raw and ragged. Mahanon sighed. 

“I only wished I hadn’t failed. I’m not sure I can face my clan again.” 

“Maker knows why you would want me, but I will be with you. You won’t face them alone.” 

It was Mahanon’s turn to pull Dorian to him, kissing him thoroughly. It was different this time, desperate, all teeth and tongue. Mahanon backed him to the wall, calloused hands gripping into Dorian’s forearms with an urgency Dorian had never felt before. From anyone. When Mahanon pulled away both of them were panting, the elf’s eyes predatory again. 

“You can’t fathom it, can you?” 

Dorian shook his head. “Fathom what?” 

Mahanon’s voice was rough, making Dorian’s stomach clench and heat flame over his neck. 

“I want you Dorian. All of you.” 

Months of longing surged through him then. Dorian was long past the point of no return. He fisted his hands into Mahanon’s shirt, pulling him close until their lips almost met. 

“Are you certain?” 

Mahanon pushed away from him slightly, then looked down at his clothes. Dorian thought for a moment he’d been rejected, until the elf shed his cloak. Then his hands went to his shirt hesitantly, before he pulled it off in one swift motion. Dorian understood then. He placed one hand over the twisted scar covering the elf’s taut stomach, making the flesh jump for a moment before Mahanon relaxed into the touch. Then Dorian twisted him around, eyeing the scars covering Mahanon’s back. Sorrow filled him, but he pushed it aside, tracing them gently. Mahanon shivered, but didn’t flinch. He let Dorian run his hand over every scar, the action by far the most intimate thing Dorian had ever done. Mahanon spoke softly, uncertainly. 

“Are _you_ certain?” 

Dorian turned him around again. “Amatus I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.” 

Mahanon grinned and then grabbed at Dorian’s robes, pulling him towards the bed. 

~~

When Dorian woke, it was at best an hour before dawn. Mahanon wasn’t next to him, but the soft scrape of a whetstone on metal met his ears. He woke to find the elf, only wearing his breeches, sitting on the one chair in the room, edging his weapons. He’d lit a candle, and the light flickered warmly over his skin, playing off the acorn color of it. The elf smiled when Dorian met his eyes, a true one. Dorian smiled back, noting the bruises dotting Mahanon’s neck and chest. Even so, the familiar flicker of uncertainty and longing flashed in his chest. Were this anyone else, he would have been long gone. But it was Mahanon, and he had nowhere to run if the elf decided once was enough for him. 

“What’s on your mind?” 

Dorian sat up, letting his feet touch the wood floor. If he didn’t think on it too hard he wouldn’t wonder when the last time they’d been cleaned was. Mahanon set his daggers aside and came to join him, knocking their shoulders together gently. Dorian sighed. 

“I’m curious where this goes you and I. We’ve had our fun…” 

He trailed off. Fun was not even close to the correct word. Mahanon tilted his head and Dorian found he couldn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Is that what you want, for this to be a one-off thing?” 

Dorian flinched. Mahanon caught it, reaching over and taking Dorian’s hand in his own. 

“I want more than just fun Dorian.” 

Dorian stared at him and Mahanon smiled, lifting Dorian’s hand to his mouth and kissing it gently. 

“Speechless I see.” 

“I was…expecting something different. I’ve never been able to hope for more.” 

Mahanon squeezed his hand, whether in sympathy or understanding Dorian didn’t care. He was just glad to have it. 

“This is more Dorian.” 

A fierce sort of joy flooded Dorian.  “Funny I didn’t recognize it then.” 

Mahanon snorted softly and pulled Dorian in for another kiss. He pulled away with a sigh. 

“As much as I would love to keep you in bed all day, we need to leave at dawn.” 

Dorian made a noise, expressing his discontent, and Mahanon laughed, getting to his feet. 

“Come along ma lath. The sooner we leave the sooner we can make camp.” 

Mahanon winked. Dorian had to give the elf his due, he knew how to motivate him. They took their time dressing, one or both of them sidetracked by the other’s mouth. Dorian left a letter for Felix with the tavern keeper, leaving more money he couldn’t spare for the man to send it and keep his mail here. He’d told Felix he’d be with Clan Lavellan, just in case. With that done they set off. It was hard to follow the sun rise with the fog off the ocean. Ostwick was so unlike Minrathous, as was the chill in the air despite it still being autumn. 

He shook of the twinge of homesickness and followed Mahanon. Not that he had any problem doing that. The elf kept glancing at him and then looking away with a smile. It was both endearing and ridiculous. The fog cleared some as they moved away from the city, and Mahanon let him unwrap his staff. It felt good to have it in hand again. The rumors they had heard in the city the day before, open warfare between the stray mages and templars, had been unsettling. He’d heard tells of bandit attacks on more than one tongue, and the undercurrent of fear and tension had made him all the more watchful of Mahanon. Nor had he missed the elf slipping a dagger under his pillow before curling into Dorian’s chest. 

Those were the thoughts that plagued him the first two hours of their journey. He was torn between the sheer joy of their night together and black thoughts of what could happen next. That was, until Mahanon stiffened and drew his daggers. It was still foggy, though they could see a few feet in front of them. Dorian had long since learned to trust Mahanon’s instincts, and reached for his magic. He cast a barrier over both of them. As he did Larson stepped out of the fog, making Mahanon growl. He was accompanied by two swordsmen. 

Dorian thought they looked rather feral, manic with their pinched faces. Hungry. Larson’s hand was wrapped in a bandage already stained and dirty. Mahanon shook his head. 

“You really want to try this again?” 

Larson’s face twisted into an ugly sneer. “I know your master is a Vint. Which means he used his magic to help you last night. Fucking Magisters.” 

Dorian sniffed. “Now really not everyone from the Imperium is a Magister.” 

Dorian really didn’t like the way the swordsman circled Mahanon, tensing as they prepared to attack at one. He waved his staff and a line of fire blocked them from the elf. Mahanon grinned that feral grin of his when Larson flinched. But then one of the man shouted something Dorian couldn’t understand, as forced hit him in the chest, blasting the air from his lungs. He fell to his knees with a gasp. 

“Apostate fucker!” 

He’d been smited exactly once in his life. As part of a test. The templars rarely used their power in the Imperium, unless it was to help those in control stay in control. It stung. The fire went out and the rogue Templars attacked Mahanon together. Dorian was able to maintain his barrier over Mahanon, but the drain to his magic had been huge. Even that was a struggle. He noticed too late Larson coming for him, sword drawn. He struggled to his feet with his staff, trying to remember his lessons. He didn’t think either of them expected the dagger that lodged itself in Larson’s throat. For a moment he only gasped, hand reaching to stop the blood spurting from his jugular. Then he fell and Dorian saw Mahanon using his speed to avoid the Templars, but unable to close with the two of them. Even with what Dorian figured was lyrium withdrawal, they were formidable. His magic came roaring back and he caught one of their surcoats on fire, making the man scream. His companion was unable to smite Dorian again, having to contend with an angry elf disarming him. 

Then it was over. Dorian waved his hand and put the screaming Templar out, though the man collapsed, retching. Then the noise stopped. Mahanon backhanded the Templar, knocking him unconscious. Then he hurried over to Dorian, checking him over. 

“Are you hurt?” 

Dorian shook his head. “I must say that was a good throw.” 

Mahanon snorted, going to pull his dagger from Larson’s throat, cleaning it on the man’s jerkin. He didn’t give the man a second glance. 

“Let’s get out of here.” 

Dorian nodded and let Mahanon guide him on, only a little shaky from the encounter. Mostly, he was relieved the elf hadn’t been hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, this might be my favorite chapter so far. So this is the end of part 2. Once more thanks to TheFaye92. Also many, many thanks to the readers. You guys have gotten me to 1520 kudos last time I checked. Not only that but this is a blast to write, in part because of all of the support.


	19. When the Light Appears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part III

_"You'll bare your bones you'll grow you'll pray you'll only know_

_When the light appears, boy, when the light appears_

_You'll sing & you'll love you'll praise blue heavens above _

_When the light appears, boy, when the light appears_

 

_You'll whimper & you'll cry you'll get yourself sick and sigh _

_You'll sleep & you'll dream you'll only know what you mean _

_When the light appears, boy, when the light appears_

_You'll come & you'll go, you'll wander to and fro _

 

_You'll go home in despair you'll wonder why'd you care_

_You'll stammer & you'll lie you'll ask everybody why _

_You'll cough and you'll pout you'll kick your toe with gout_

_You'll jump you'll shout you'll knock you're friends about_

 

_You'll bawl and you'll deny & announce your eyes are dry _

_You'll roll and you'll rock you'll show your big hard cock_

_You'll love and you'll grieve & one day you'll come to believe _

_As you whistle & you smile the lord made you worthwhile _

 

_You'll preach and you'll glide on the pulpit in your pride_

_Sneak & slide across the stage like a river in high tide _

_You'll come fast or come on slow just the same you'll never know_

_When the light appears, boy, when the light appears"_ -“When the Light Appears,” Allen Ginsberg

 

With Larson and Ostwick behind them, Mahanon felt…free. He was no longer dreading facing his clan again. Not with Dorian next to him. They may not like it, least of all Sulahn, but he would not deny Dorian in front of them. When they made camp that first night Mahanon didn’t hesitate to tear Dorian’s clothes off, assuring both of them they had survived Larson’s attack. That they were alive. After they were both sated Dorian sat up, pressing his back to the tree they’d made camp under. He let Mahanon sit between his legs, wrapping his cloak around both of them. Dorian shivered. 

“I don’t know how you southerners stand the cold.” 

Mahanon laughed. “This is nothing. Give it another month or two there will be snow on the ground.” 

Dorian shook his head, his breath ghosting over Mahanon’s ear. It tickled. Mahanon could feel his heartbeat beating strongly against his back, and settled more firmly against him. The mage pointed is finger at the owl constellation over their heads. 

“That’s Tenebrium. See the owl?” 

Mahanon shook his head. “That’s Falon’Din.” 

“Is not. He’s based off of the Old God Lusacan.” 

“Abelas ma vhenan. The Creators came first, which means that’s Falon’Din. He pops up as an owl all of the time.” 

He could feel Dorian’s frown and bit back a smile. 

“What about the tree?” 

“Andruil.” He kept his voice smug. 

Dorian huffed impatiently. Mahanon chuckled, wondering when his heart had gotten so light. He pointed at the constellation he knew the best. 

“You know Chaos?” Dorian made a noise to the affirmative. “This may come as a shock but I was born under his sign. Another hunter told my mother once that was a bad omen.” 

“Chaos is not necessarily a bad omen. Though in your case…” 

“Just an extremely unlucky one.” 

Dorian squeezed him more tightly. He could practically hear the gears turning in the mage’s head. When he spoke again he was hesitant. 

“That means your name day was…” 

Mahanon cleared his throat. “The day Athras stabbed me.” 

“Vishante kaffas.” 

He tried to play it off. His name day had never been special to him the way it was humans. He didn’t want Dorian thinking about that day. 

“Yeah I’ve had better.” 

Dorian pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Next year, I’ll bake you a cake.” 

“I thought you  _didn’t_  want to kill me?” 

“Venhedis. That isn’t funny.” 

Mahanon chuckled again. “It’s a little funny.” 

Dorian groaned and nibbled at his ear. Mahanon nearly jumped out of his arms. The mage held him down, laughing heartily. 

“Well now  _that_  is an interesting reaction.” 

“Dorian…” 

Dorian did it again and Mahanon struggled against him. Then he stopped, chortling. Mahanon twisted, pulling away from him a bit to glare. He could see the mage clearly in the starlight, the moon not quite risen yet. Dorian raised one of his hands and Mahanon bit at it, only succeeding in making Dorian laugh again. 

“I do adore you Mahanon.” 

There it was, that pleasure he got from hearing his own name. Any irritation dissipated and he pressed a hand to Dorian’s chest. The mage rested both of his hands over Mahanon’s, moving his hand over his heart. Mahanon found himself smiling as he leaned forward and kissed Dorian gently. 

That night, they pressed their slipping skins close together, and Mahanon slept better than he had in months. 

~~

Dorian seemed to be alternating between happy and bitter with his sore feet and the constant chill. He’d never gotten so much exercise in his life. He detested it. At least he was trying to convince Mahanon he was so the elf would break down and let him sell his amulet so they could get some horses. The elf usually smiled, nodded, kissed his cheek and then bolted off into the twilight for their supper. He actually made the bow he used. The bloody savage knew how to do that, as for a number of things Dorian pretended to be horrified about was secretly fascinated by. 

When he was being completely honest, with himself at least, he was feeling rather light. Something about their little pilgrimage was proving a balm to the hurts of the last year. Or it was just Mahanon himself, coming alive in the hills and forests he’d grown up in. He had the languid grace of a predator, slinking in and out of camp silently, not an ounce of energy wasted in his movements. Dorian learned Mahanon was patient, able to outsmart and outlast his prey, laying still for  _hours_  if he had to. 

There was more. It turned out the further away from the Imperium got, the more Mahanon revealed himself. That day on the beach turned out not be a fluke. The elf liked to play, to tease Dorian. He enjoyed stories and legends, even those of the Imperium. He liked to bite and be bitten. He loved to swim and drag Dorian into the freezing water with him. He spent as much time climbing trees as he did walking. Dorian found himself collecting these facts about the elf, cataloguing them. He wasn’t entirely sure why, only that it comforted him. 

There where times neither he nor Mahanon were fine. Mahanon had moments during the day where he’d zone out entirely, eyes far away. He startled easily sometimes, particularly near villages or other people. Dorian had nightmares. None were too bad, and he pretended he didn’t. Mahanon tired to make him talk about them, but Dorian utterly refused. He had to draw the line somewhere, or so he told himself. 

That’s what he was doing, on the rare somewhat pleasant day in the Free Marches, about two weeks into their travels. Brooding in the shade of a tree, and missing Felix so fiercely it hurt. He was also rubbing his feet and impatient for Mahanon to come back. The elf did at last, a couple of rabbits slung on his belt. 

“Well you certainly took your sweet time.” 

Mahanon just raised an eyebrow. “How are the feet?” 

“Sore.” 

The elf knelt, taking one of Dorian’s feet in his own and rubbing them. He let the elf work him, leaning back against the tree. Mahanon, as usual, read him like an open book. 

“I’m sorry. I should have let us wait in Ostwick.” 

“What for?” 

Mahanon shrugged, moving his clever fingers to Dorian’s calves. “For a letter from Felix.” 

Dorian felt a rush of shame for his constant complaining since they woke. He sighed, pulling his leg away and grabbing his boots. 

“There is no guarantee he received my letter, or that his would have arrived before winter set in. Which, as you keep reminding me, is coming. We best get a move on.” 

“Dorian…” 

He held up his hand. “Please. Leave me with it.” 

Mahanon sighed but nodded, getting to his feet. He offered his hand and Dorian took it. They were silent for some time. Mahanon had them moving into the mountains, towards the Planasene Forest. The elf seemed certain that was where the clan was headed to bunker down for the winter. They would have more opportunities for food and less chance of running into humans and the ever-escalating war between the mages and Templars. The foothills were dotted with caves, something that proved handy as the day wore on in strained silence. The wind picked up, and clouds appeared out of nowhere, souring Dorian’s mood further. He certain it was going to rain. 

“We should take shelter here.” 

Mahanon pointed to a cave. Dorian groaned internally. He was less of a fan of the caves than he was of the rain. Or the blasted fog. Or the near-constant chill. They reached the cave just in time for the sudden storm to set in, running the last stretch as the rain came pelting down on them. It took only a minute for them to be soaked through. Dorian angrily shook water out of his robes while Mahanon just laughed, shaking himself like a dog. While Dorian was frowning at the puddles underneath both of them, glaring at the rain and the elf both, the mad man was  _laughing_. 

“What, pray tell, is so funny?” 

Mahanon walked forward, running his hands gently into Dorian’s hair. Then he proceeded to muss it, making it stick straight up. 

“That.” 

Mahanon danced away while Dorian swatted at him, still chuckling. His teeth flashed white against his skin, green eyes glinting even in the dim light of the cave. They stuck out against the sudden grey of the day, and Dorian felt his irritation leak out of him. It was impossible to hang onto with those eyes looking at him like  _that_. Like he was the most important being in Thedas at that moment. 

He grabbed Mahanon and did the same thing to his hair, nails scraping over the short hairs on the side, finding purchase in the bit the elf let grow out. Now he looked like some sort of overgrown bird, making Dorian smile. Mahanon grabbed his robes. 

“You know you shouldn’t sit around in these wet clothes. You’ll get cold.” 

“Well we can’t have that, now can we?” 

Mahanon grinned, feral and predatory, sending a thrill down Dorian’s spine. He bumped their foreheads together gently before whispering in Dorian’s ear. 

“Better?” 

Dorian nodded and Mahanon sucked a bite into his neck, before letting elf peel off his robe. Then Mahanon paused again, lifting his head to look Dorian in the eye. 

“If you don’t want to go back to my clan, we can always head to Kirkwall. I’m sure we could get by somehow between the two of us. Or we can turn back to Ostwick. Perhaps go to Ferelden or Orlais.” 

He could see the elf meant it. He shook his head, touched. 

“I can’t ask that of you. I won’t.” 

“It’s not just me anymore though, is it? It’s us. I want you to be happy Dorian.” 

Dorian pulled him close, not sure how to handle the constant wealth of emotions the elf inspired in him. “I am.” 

And he was. It may not be enough down the road, but for the moment he found he truly was. He kissed the elf, working on his own cloak. Lightning flashed outside, but Dorian could hardly find it within him to care with Mahanon in his arms. 

~~

It took five weeks, but they reached the Planasene forest without incident. Mahanon felt the ache of homesickness. They were so close, but he was anxious to see the clan again. Eight months was a long time. He been to the edge and back, and didn’t know what they’d make of him. Or he of them. Dorian looked around the trees. 

“Well, this is certainly a forest.” 

Mahanon snorted. “It is at that.” 

He glanced around. Something about the place felt different. It could be paranoia, but he could feel the slight temperature drop between the tree line and forest proper. He shivered slightly, stepping in. Dorian waved his hand. 

“How are we to find your clan in all of this? If they want to hide for an age, they could.” 

Mahanon gestured for Dorian to follow him. “I’ll show you.” 

He found what he was looking for about ten minutes later. The slight discrepancy on the bark of a tree trunk. He headed towards it. 

“See these? They’re markings for the hunters.” 

Mahanon dug his fingers into the bark, lifting it away. A tree, iridescent against the bark, stood stoically. Mahanon pressed his fingers to it and a blue trail rand down the trunk, making a path into the woods. Dorian tilted his head, examining the mark. 

“That is quite clever. What happens when the clan moves on?” 

“It degrades as soon as the aravels are far enough away. They’re about a day ahead now.” 

Mahanon removed his hand. He didn’t mention that it was Sulahn, not the Keeper that had made this mark. Which was unusual. He was unsettled as they moved deeper through the trees. Quiet pressed down on them, heavy and full. A day away from the clan, he should be excited. Instead, he was afraid. The forest somehow grew colder, and the only break from the oppressive quiet was Dorian’s muffled cursing as he tripped over tree roots. Finally, Mahanon couldn’t take it. 

“Dorian let’s make camp. I don’t think we should keep going today.” 

That and he had the sudden longing for the warmth and light of a fire. It was still an hour until sunset, but he would feel better if the holed up for the night. He found a small hollow in he base of one of the massive trees, the ones even timber workers from Kirkwall wouldn’t touch due to the sheer size of them. They made camp and the moment Dorian had the fire going, Mahanon felt better. While he cooked he was only half-listening to Dorian’s story about one of his classmates and an unfortunate incident with a hair-growth spell. He kept listening past the fire, to any hint of danger beyond their little hollow. Finally, when Mahanon barely ate a bite during dinner, Dorian cleared his throat. 

“Am I boring you amatus?” 

Mahanon blinked, smiling ruefully. “No Dorian, it’s not that.” 

“Then what is it? You’re wound tighter than a bowstring.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, jumping when the fire let off a pop. He set aside his bowl with a sigh. 

“I don’t know. Can’t you feel it? There’s something…off.” 

Dorian frowned. “Here I thought it was just me.” 

Mahanon bit his lip. “I’ll go make water. I think we should sleep in shifts tonight.” 

The mage nodded. Mahanon scrambled out of the hollow, though he was reluctant to let Dorian out of his sight. Moving quickly so that he wasn’t too far from camp, but far enough away not to attract predators to his scent. After he’d finished he heard a crack and turned, heart in his throat. He had hoped it was Dorian. He should have known better. A bear met his eyes. Right away he could see it was very sick, its fur mangy and foam speckled against its black lips. It blinked stupidly at Mahanon, looking as surprised as he felt at that moment.

Time came screeching to a halt as they stared at each other, the blood pounding in Mahanon’s ears. Then he ran. The bear snarled and he could feel it on his heels, even sick it was keeping pace with him all too well. He knew better than to go for the trees. He and another hunter had learned that lesson the hard way, when they’d been trapped by a climbing bear and had to jump out of the tree. He had no real plan outside of "lead the beast away from Dorian," so he made for the river. Soon there was a stitch in his side, his breath coming in harsh gasps. But he couldn’t stop. The starving animal would outlast him, mad in its desperation. 

Still, Mahanon didn’t lose hope he could get out of this predicament. Not until he found himself suddenly too high above the river, the forest floor giving way to a shallow gorge. He could hear the bear behind him, but he had no clue what he could do. The choice was taken from him when the ground beneath him gave way and was suddenly sliding towards the river. He landed painfully, his weak ankle breaking with a  _snap_  that echoed in his ears. Mahanon moaned, half of him submerged in icy water. He looked up to see the bear growling in distress, looking for a way down. He groaned and tried dragging himself out of the water, pain making him queasy. But he only had the energy to crawl out of the water before he collapsed again. He rolled over, seeing a couple of rocks skitter down the hill as the bear started to scrabble down. 

“Well. Shit.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I didn't have a bear attack Mahanon again(as in Fire on the Mountain) because I'm an uncreative hack. It'll get explained to one extent or another later. Anyways thanks again to TheFaye92. She has a new oneshot on the Blackwall/Inquisitor tag called "Mala in Se" that's super dark you guys should check it out. Thanks again for the kudos and feedback!


	20. What I Wouldn't Find

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Feel free to skip this note if you haven't read Wrong Side of Heaven or Fire on the Mountain) So slight disclaimer here, I did reuse my characters from Wrong Side of Heaven for Mahanon's family since it's the same Mahanon. However, that whole mess where Sulahn broke Mahanon's nose didn't happen since that was just before the conclave in that universe.

_“I suspected, however, that I wasn't homesick for anything I would find at home when I returned. The longing was for what I wouldn't find: the past and all the people and places there were lost to me.”_ -Alice Steinbach 

 

Dorian gave Mahanon five minutes before he followed him. He understood the importance of privacy when they were each other’s constant companions. He also understood they were in the sort of forest parents warned their children about. Considering Mahanon’s knack for finding trouble, he decided to follow him. Of course, he heard growling, and something crashing through the trees in front of him. _I’ll give you three guesses but you only need one._ He followed, cursing the elf and the impracticality of his robes and staff in the forest. 

When at last there was a break in the trees, he almost went over. He could see both Mahanon and the bear in the moonlight, Mahanon’s eyes glinting below him as he tried crawl away from the bear. Dorian reacted without thinking, sending a fireball at the bear to get its attention. It growled low, almost managing to sound like a moan. To his massive relief and consternation, the bear turned its eyes on him. Dorian shouted and waved his arms, needing to get the bear away from Mahanon. 

Should they both survive this, he decided he need to have a serious discussion with himself about his need to protect this blasted elf at all costs. The bear mewled, shaking its head in confusion. Were it not trying to eat his amatus, he might have felt sorry for it. As it was, he burned it again. Then, to his utter surprise, there was a shout from the trees to his right. Arrows hit the bear. The creature knew how to respond to those at least, shaking its head and backing up towards the river. More arrows thudded into its flesh, followed by more shouting. 

Dorian scrabbled down to Mahanon, pulling him into his arms and carrying him out of the water. The bloody fool’s teeth were chattering as he tangled a hand in Dorian’s robes. 

“C-c-cold.” 

“That’s because you’re drenched amatus.” 

His voice was only a little shaky with relief. Mahanon was holding his ankle at an awkward angle. 

“B-brok-ken.” 

Dorian winced in sympathy. “You were alone _five_ minutes.” 

Mahanon huffed his amusement. The bear gave one last snarl and fled into the river, swimming across the swift waters. Still powerful despite its emaciated state.

“H-help me s-s-stand.” 

Dorian had deep reservations about that but he did as the elf asked, taking the brunt of Mahanon’s weight so he was off the ankle. He held his staff ready with his free hand. 

“Drop your staff shem! You’re surrounded!” 

“D-do it.” 

Mahanon was firm, trembling as he was. Dorian lowered his staff and the elves approached, bows trained on him. One of the elves, his own staff in hand, pushed through the crowd. It was unnerving, his dark clothing and fierce eyes flinty as he scowled at Dorian. But then the man’s eyes dropped to Mahanon, and his mouth fell open in a silent o. He glanced at Mahanon, who was smiling, teeth catching the moonlight. 

“H-hello s-stranger.” 

The elves lowered their bows, glancing at each other. That was downright unsettling, like looking at a pack of wolves the way their eyes glittered. More unsettling was when the elf dropped his staff and rushed forward, cupping Mahanon’s face in his hands. 

“Mahanon…you live.” 

“S-sulahn.” 

Well that explained that. Dorian cleared his throat, not sure what to do. Only that he needed to get Mahanon to a fire. 

“I hate to interrupt, but he’s turning into an elfscicle.” 

Sulahn’s eyes snapped to his, and he snarled. “Detain the shem.” 

The bows snapped up again, all six of them aimed at Dorian. _Well this is going swimmingly._  

~~

Mahanon felt Dorian stiffen and hopped forward so he was in front of the mage. Sulahn was too busy glaring at Dorian to realize he was hurt. Mahanon's own anger put a stop to the chattering of his teeth.

“Sulahn call them off.” 

“You can’t be serious. This shemlen? What is he to you?” 

Mahanon stumbled and Dorian caught him, holding him up while muttering under his breath about “bullheaded elves”. Hurt flickered over Sulahn’s features with his understanding. 

“I see.” 

“Sulahn I can-”

Sulahn held up his hand, cutting him off. The hunters lowered their bows but kept them ready. There was a tense moment where his ankle throbbed hard enough to make him nauseous; Dorian’s hands were gentle and warm on his shoulders. Grounding him. At last Sulahn looked at his ankle, shaking his head. He bent and grabbed it, making Mahanon clench his teeth. As easily as he could breath, Sulahn healed his ankle. He rose and turned away without a word. Dorian squeezed his shoulders but then moved his hands, keeping his distance from Mahanon. He understood. The way his clan members were glaring at Dorian; even silent, they made their disapproval clear. Still, he missed the warmth. Then one figure detached itself from the others. His uncle, Assan. 

“Da’fen…I never thought I’d see you again.” 

His uncle dropped his bow and embraced Mahanon tightly. He felt tears pricking at his eyes and blinked them back, swallowing. 

“Uncle.” 

Assan pulled back, looking Mahanon up and down. He cocked an eyebrow when his eyes landed on Mahanon’s nose. 

“Who broke your nose?”

“An asshole.” 

Assan cupped his chin, turning his head from side to side. “I think it’s an improvement to be honest.”  

Mahanon sniffed even as he pushed the man’s hand away. Assan wasn’t doing much better, shaking his head. He clapped a hand to Mahanon’s back, turning him towards the other hunters. As if Assan’s approval was their cue, the others gathered around, spit-firing questions and platitudes. If he’d been a loner before he left, his time in Tevinter and the sheer novelty of actually surviving long enough to make it home left him cagey as he was surrounded by his clan. Only Assan’s firm hand on his shoulder kept him calm. If it was this bad with the handful of hunters present, he didn’t want to think about how seeing the whole clan would go. He glanced at Dorian. He and Sulahn were staring each other down. Dorian’s face was neutral, Sulahn’s was anything but. Assan followed his gaze and waved his hand. He was only ten years Mahanon’s senior, but he was well-respected. 

“Alright let’s get out of here before the bears find us.” 

That brought Mahanon back to himself. The others pushed on ahead of them, Sulahn taking the lead. Dorian took up the rear. Assan glanced back at him, before switching to elvish. 

“You don’t have to tell me everything right now, but the bare bones of it would be nice. Do I vouch for that one or no?” 

Mahanon snorted. “You vouch for him. He saved my life.” 

“Then that’s all I need to know.” Assan turned his head to Dorian. “Shem, what’s your name?” 

Dorian bowed a little, giving Mahanon a slight smile. “Dorian of House Pavus. At your service.” 

Mahanon thought he managed to make that look rather good, despite walking in the middle of woods he could barely see in and being covered in mud. Assan just shot Mahanon a look. 

“Where did you find a shem princeling?” 

Mahanon cleared his throat. “He’s a lord, though he left all of that to bring me home.” 

“Right.” 

He heard Sulahn snort ahead, and a couple of the hunters turned to glare at Dorian again. Who made Mahanon proud by waving. He wasn’t sure how to tactfully tell his uncle he’d been sold into slavery and then to Dorian’s family. Mahanon bit his lip. Assan sighed, shaking his head. 

“Whatever kept you away so long, it must have been bad.” 

He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the understatement. “You have no idea.” 

Assan clapped his back. “Don’t worry Da’fen. We’ll get your things then take you home and get you fed.” 

Mahanon had a million questions, but exhaustion and nerves weighed down his tongue. He simply nodded and Assan mussed his hair before walking towards the other hunters. Subtly giving Dorian and Mahanon room. Mahanon waited for Dorian, who pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, one eye on the hunters, before they fell into step together. He shivered in his sodden clothes, body aching. Dorian took one look at him and stopped, removing Mahanon’s cloak. He pulled his own robes off, stripping to that odd leather outfit he wore under. He threw the robes over Mahanon’s head, straightening them out. Then he draped the cloak over his arm and carried on like nothing happened. Mahanon caught Sulahn waiting impatiently for them and pressed on, reveling in the warmth and smell of Dorian’s robes. 

~~

Dorian wouldn’t have been happy, but he would have found his own place to sleep if it kept the peace. But Mahanon didn’t want to let him out of his sight, much less his bed, and Dorian was well past the point where he could deny the elf anything. He didn’t get to see much of the camp, or any of Mahanon’s clan. Just fell asleep curled around him. Then at dawn he woke to a pair of high-pitched voices and Mahanon laughing. 

He sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying to process the elf getting attacked by what, at first glance, seemed to be miniature versions of himself. Dorian rose, grabbing the robe Mahanon had left behind in favor of his own now-dry clothes, and threw it on as he watched the display. Mahanon joined him, one child slung onto his shoulders, the other clutching his hand. 

“Dorian this is Samahl and Nehn. Assan and Aunt Laya’s twins. Both of you say hello to Dorian.” 

The boy, his eyes wide and purple, hid behind Mahanon’s leg. The girl tapped Mahanon’s head and he pulled her off and set her on the ground. She ran towards Dorian and grabbed his hand, tugging him towards her parents, not seeing or caring that they were arguing. Instead, she chattered away, sounding for all the world like a sparrow. 

“My name’s Nehn. That’s my brother Sam. Are you really a prince? Da’fen says you can do magic. Will you show me some? After breakfast of course…” 

She carried on, not waiting for an answer. Dorian looked back to where Mahanon was clearly fighting a grin, Sam now enjoying the space on his shoulders. The boy kept covering Mahanon’s eyes as they walked, drawing his attention away and making him laugh. Nehn dragged Dorian over to what seemed to be the family’s fire. Laya just walked away while Assan filled a couple of bowls. He handed one to Dorian, his eyes nearly apologetic. 

“My thanks.” 

Assan just nodded and took a seat next to Nehn. Mahanon and Sam joined them, and Dorian noted the elf seemed to be moving stiffly, no doubt sore from the mess with the bear. But he smiled, once more the man Dorian had gotten to know over the last few weeks. He was now scanning the camp as he ate. 

“Assan where is the Keeper?” 

The man frowned, glancing towards on of the aravels. Nehn answered for him. 

“She got sick. Like the bears.” 

“Hush Da’len. Not like the bears. Eat your breakfast.” 

Nehn did, switching topics and eating around her food. Dorian hid a smile, fond of her already. Once done she grabbed Sam and they scampered off. Which had Mahanon speaking low to his uncle. 

“How sick?” 

Assan rubbed the back of his neck. Mahanon had said they weren’t actually related by blood, just marriage, but Dorian wondered if he knew how many of his mannerisms echoed Assan’s. 

“She’s in a coma. Sulahn can explain it better than me, but she got sick when they went to the altar.” 

Dorian frowned. “What altar?” 

“There’s an altar to Falon’Din in the woods. Assan, what did she mean by the bears?” 

“You may not have noticed,” Assan gave Mahanon a wry smile. “But the bears are all sick. They stopped going after their usual prey, only us. But the Keeper is too sick to move. That’s how we found the two of you last night, we’ve been taking shifts to keep them away from the camp.” 

Mahanon and Dorian exchanged a glance. Mahanon asked so Dorian didn’t have to. 

“Were the bears sick when you got here?” 

Assan paused, spoon at his mouth. Then he took a bite, clearly debating how to answer. Then he shook his head. 

“No. Istimaethoriel fell ill, then the attacks started.” 

Mahanon nodded and then got to his feet. “Come on Dorian.” 

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

Assan and Dorian both rose. Mahanon grabbed his cloak off the tree Dorian had hung it on the night before. He shrugged into it, checking his daggers and knives. 

“To check on Istimaethoriel, then to go look at the altar.” 

Dorian decided to chime in. “Mahanon, as much as I would love to go traipsing through the bear-infested forest with you, this seems like a fantastically stupid idea.” 

Assan jerked his thumb at Dorian. “What his lordship said.” 

Mahanon proceeded to ignore both of them. “Where’s Sulahn?” 

“With the Keeper.” 

“Then let’s go.” 

Assan muttered a long string of curses in elvish. Dorian sighed and grabbed his staff. Mahanon’s uncle shot him a look. 

“You’re going with him?” 

Dorian shrugged and strode towards Mahanon. “I don’t seem able to stop him, but I can make sure he doesn’t go alone.” 

The older elf grunted and turned his back on them both as they moved through the camp. 

~~

The second Mahanon and Dorian stuck their heads into the aravel, Sulahn’s face hardened. He hissed at Mahanon. 

“Get _him_ out of here.” 

Mahanon stood his ground. “We need to talk.” 

Sulahn released the Keeper’s hand. Mahanon took one look at her, stomach twisting at how frail and still she was. Then Sulahn was shoving him out of the aravel, spitting mad. 

“You dare bring this-” He waved his hand dismissively towards Dorian. “Here? Whatever he is to you, you have no right!” 

Sulahn, naturally, drew the attention of everyone within earshot. Mahanon clenched his jaw. 

“He may be able to help.” 

Sulahn scoffed. “What would he know? He is just some spoiled brat who has no cause to be here.” 

“If he has no cause here, then neither do I.” Mahanon growled. 

Dorian placed his hand on Mahanon’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Mahanon…” 

He turned. Dorian rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I won’t come between you and your clan. If it is easier I will head back to Ostwick.” 

“See? The shem is true to his nature. Quick to run away.” 

Dorian stiffened. “Now see here-”

Mahanon knew where this was headed, and now most of the clan was watching. He clenched his jaw and cut Dorian off. 

“Dorian, will you wait for me back at the fire? Please.” 

Dorian glared at Sulahn but nodded. He brushed his fingers over Mahanon’s arm and turned away, keeping his head held high despite the sea of angry faces. Mahanon rubbed a hand roughly over his face. He was starting to feel it was a mistake coming home at all. _Dread Wolf take all of you._  

He turned back to Sulahn. “Can we discuss this somewhere the entire clan isn't watching?” 

He let his voice rise. A few members of the clan had enough shame to turn away. Others didn’t. He had the feeling those who had been staunchly against his relationship with Sulahn, would welcome the change now if it meant getting rid of Dorian. Would he blame them, if he was in their shoes? _Yes._ He grabbed Sulahn’s elbow and dragged him off into the trees. Not too far, he was still uneasy about the forest, but he gave them enough distance for some semblance of privacy. Sulahn shook him off, snarling. 

“You should never have come home. Not after what you _did_. What you’re doing!” 

Mahanon clenched his fists. “What did I do?” 

“You ran off to play human for a-”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” He kept his voice even, but just barely. 

Sulahn knew better than to interrupt him. Mahanon peeled off his cloak, then stripped off his shirt with shaking fingers. Taking a deep breath he turned his back. Sulahn gasped. Mahanon tensed but forced himself to speak. 

“I did _not_ run off. I was _taken_.” 

Cool fingers touched his back. Mahanon flinched and Sulahn withdrew his hand. Mahanon turned and started dressing again, jaw starting to ache from how hard he was biting down on his anger. Sulahn shook his head. 

“Abelas. I…It’s you. I had hoped you escaped them. It was easier to think-”

“That I made some sort of miraculous escape?” 

Sulahn nodded. Mahanon sighed, relieved when his cloak was back on his shoulders. 

“I’ve told you before, I’m only mortal. Did you really think I’d abandon you so easily?” 

He was hurt by the accusation. He’d never been anything but faithful, even when his mother wanted to drive him and Sulahn apart. Up until he’d met Dorian, it had always been Sulahn. Sulahn’s train of thought seemed to follow along the same lines, and his eyes hardened again. 

“Was he your master?” 

Mahanon turned his head, but he didn’t lie. “Yes.” 

“I should kill him.” 

“It wasn’t like that. He tried to get me home. I was the one who refused to go.” 

Sulahn shook his head. “If he really wanted you to go…” 

“He would pick me up and put me on the ship. How do you think I got out of Minrathous alive?” 

Sulahn sighed, the fight going out of him. “What about me Mahanon?” 

“Do you believe me when I say I’m not trying to hurt you? I didn’t want to fall in love with a human.” 

His former love stiffened, eyes darker than ever. “ _Love_?” 

Before Mahanon could answer, footsteps crunched behind them. 

“Sulahn! Mahanon!” Assan was frantic, Dorian in tow behind him. “Nehn and Samahl aren’t in the camp. They’ve run off.” 

Mahanon turned to Sulahn. He was the First, this had to be his priority. Sulahn’s hand tightened on his staff. 

“Gather all of the hunters.” He pointed towards Mahanon. “You and your human stay here.” 

“What?” 

Sulahn shoved past him, all emotion draining from him. It was a persona Mahanon had rarely seen. The one he went into when he was playing at being Keeper. For some reason, it was working. 

“Someone needs to stay behind and protect the camp. I don’t trust _him_ enough to bring him with us, and you just came home.” 

It was both logical and infuriating. It was Assan who stepped in. 

“Mahanon, please.” 

He nodded stiffly, unable to argue. Both men walked off, leaving Dorian and Mahanon alone in the trees. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been pretty sick so I have no idea how good this chapter is, but all I have to do is play Inquisition and write so here goes nothing. You guys continue to be amazing readers and incredibly supportive and I appreciate it. I do want to say, just because it got a little dramatic in the comments, that any mistakes should really be pointed out to me and not blamed on my beta. Yes I have one, but I often post before she can get to my chapters and either way, I have the final say on my content. That, and the poor woman has had to read something like 120,000 words from me in the last few months and she's a full-time college student, she deserves a break once in a while. I am more than open to constructive criticism, so please if you have it leave it. Just as long as everything is civil we're cool. Anyways, thanks again to TheFaye92 and thank you for reading. Cough syrup induced-rambling over.


	21. How Fickle My Heart

_How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes_

_I struggle to find any truth in your lies_

_And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know_

_My weakness I feel I must finally show_

_Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all_

_But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall_

_Lend me your eyes I can change what you see_

_But your soul you must keep, totally free_

_Har har, har har, har har, har har_

_Awake my soul_

_Awake my soul_ -“Awake My Soul,”-Mumford and Sons

 

Mahanon held Istimaethoriel’s hand in his own. It was so cold. It had been merely an hour since the others had left, and he was trying to collect himself. Worry had him tense, and he had decided to keep the Keeper company. Her eyelids fluttered restlessly with the movement of her eyes. That and the slight rise and fall of her chest were the only signs of life from her. It troubled him greatly. He heard Dorian come in, but didn’t look up. He wasn’t up for a discussion on Dorian leaving. Dorian knelt, the aravel for too small for him. He tilted his head. 

“Istimaethoriel is a bit of a mouthful.” 

Mahanon snorted, laying her hand back down gently. Dorian sighed. 

“Mahanon I don’t _want_ to leave.” 

He turned, searching Dorian’s face. He didn’t respond. Wasn’t sure he could. Then Dorian frowned, looking at the Keeper. He reached his hand to touch her forehead, then paused. 

“May I?” 

Mahanon nodded. He touched her forehead and closed his eyes. Then he jerked his hand away as if he’d been burned, paling. 

“This is no illness. This…” He shook his head. “I need to see that altar.” 

“What did you see?” 

Dorian rubbed at his temples. “She’s been touched by a demon. I could feel it’s magic. I’d give my right hand that’s what’s keeping her like this. Not to mention what’s making the bears ill.” 

Mahanon drummed his fingers on his thighs. He didn’t know if it was relevant, but maybe it meant something. 

“Falon’Din supposedly started a war for more worshippers, until the other gods interfered. Dirthamen could not betray the collective might of the others, but he lent Falon’Din his bears for protection. They’ve been his guardians ever since.” 

Dorian stroked his chin. “Will you take me?” 

Mahanon nodded. He didn’t believe in coincidences. It was too convenient Sam and Nehn ran off the same day he and Dorian arrived, and that Istimaethoriel had fallen into a coma the same day the bears all got sick. Something about Sulahn’s part in the whole mess was niggling at him as well. 

“Let’s go.” 

There were two sentries at the edge of camp. Both held their hands up as he and Dorian approached. 

“Da’fen we were told to keep you and the shem here.” 

Mahanon exhaled slowly. “By who?” 

“Sulahn. He says there is no way to tell if you’re under the influence of this blood mage.” 

“Fasta vass that rutting little…” Dorian trailed off when both sentries glared at him. 

Gale and Han. He had never been friendly with the married pair. Now, when he took a step forward, they flicked their swords up to his neck. Gale pleaded with him. 

“Please Mahanon, don’t make us restrain you.” 

He growled and stepped back, hands in the air. “Very well.” 

He turned to Dorian, holding his gaze. He switched to Tevene. 

“Three miles, past the river and over the hill. Follow the sun.” 

Before Dorian could tell him what an idiot he was Mahanon swung his fist into Han’s gut. Gale cursed and grabbed his arm. Han grabbed the other one and he struggled without really trying to escape. Distracting them long enough for Dorian to run out of the camp. Gale was torn between watching Dorian run off and struggling to hold Mahanon. 

“Fenedhis!” 

She drew her fist and returned the favor for her husband, knocking the wind out of him. Mahanon grunted but let them drag him off and tie him up. By the time they finished Dorian was long gone. 

~~

_Sodding elves, sodding forest, sodding bears._ Dorian moved with haste, certain he was seeing bears behind every tree. He didn’t have Mahanon’s grace in the thick woods, but he did have a spell to muffle his scent and the sound of his footsteps. It was still the longest trek of his life, with no trace of the hunters or the children. In fact, it was disturbingly quiet for the middle of the day. A chill settled over him as he closed in on the altar. He could tell he was getting close by his sudden urge to run away. The sensation of teeth at his ear, and a voice slithering into his brain. 

_Come no further._  

Dorian pushed on, though every bone in his body protested. His innards turned to water, and the demon laughed. 

_Coward. Go back. You have no place here._

Dorian grit his teeth. Whatever else he was, he was a powerful mage, and he would not be bested by a mere demon. The demon caught the timbre of his thoughts, and laughed again, pressing on his mind. 

_The elf sees you for what you are. How could he ever love you? A Tevinter brat, the same that destroyed his people and enslaved him. He will abandon you as soon as he can no longer use you._

“This is very tiresome.” 

Dorian pushed back with his own magic. The demon growled as he finally stepped into the clearing. Nehn was there. His heart froze until he saw her breathing. It was Sam he needed to focus on. That, and the giant, glowing mirror at the edge of the clearing. _An Eluvian, Maker._ Held by a statue of what he assumed was Falon’Din. Sam was about to touch the mirror. 

“Samahl no!” 

The boy couldn’t hear him, and the demon laughed. The mirror flickered, revealing the shape of a pride demon. It flickered out again as Sam touched it and pushed through. Without thinking, Dorian followed at a run, stepping through the mirror. Once inside, he had to shield his eyes. The place nearly blinded him. Holding his arm up to his brow, he squinted until he spotted Samahl, moving dreamlike towards the demon’s waiting arms. He’d taken the form of Assan, smiling at Sam. Dorian slammed his staff into the ground, warding the boy against the demon’s voice. He cast a barrier next and the demon roared without losing it’s shape. Dorian would not be cowed though. Sam blinked, shaking his head.  “Papa?” 

“Sam that is not your father, it’s a demon.” 

Sam was torn, looking between Dorian and Assan. “Mamae says you’re a blood mage. That you took Mahanon away from us.” 

_Yes that rumor is certainly making the rounds_. He knelt, getting on level with Samahl, without breaking the barrier the demon was now trapped behind. The man laughed though. 

“Your Mamae is right Sam. He took your cousin away.” 

“Samahl I need you to listen to me. I didn’t take Mahanon away from you, I brought him back. He’s my friend. That man is not your father.” 

The land behind the mirror was too bright. He didn’t know how Sam withstood it. His reaction times were slow, and he knew he needed to end this quickly before his strength was sapped entirely. The demon knew it too. 

“He’s a stranger son. He’s dangerous. He only wants to hurt you.” 

Sam frowned, and then stepped away from the demon. He heard something in the demon the scared him. 

“That’s it Sam. Let me get you back to your sister.” 

Sam took one last look at the demon, and then started running towards Dorian. The demon roared again and changed shape, which only spurred Sam on. Dorian grabbed him in his arms and ran. He knew he was no match for the demon here. He vaulted out of the mirror, into the clearing filled with elves, all staring at him and Sam in shock. Dorian set the boy down as fast as he could while still being gentle, and grabbed his staff in both hands. He made sure Sam was well clear of the mirror and turned. Before anyone could think to stop him, he slammed the butt of his staff into the mirror, shattering it. 

Something _screamed_ and slammed into him. He fell, vision going dark before he hit the ground. 

~~

Gale and Han had made the mistake of assuming his daggers were his only weapons. Mahanon hadn’t intended to escape just yet. Then the halla, as one, turned and ran into the forest. He heard a familiar growl that cause his heart to vault into his throat, and looked up to see three bears heading their way. He glanced around, taking stock even as he slid a knife into his hand and started sawing through his binds. There were about ten children under the age of fourteen, four young hunters whose vallaslin were still fresh on their faces, three of the craftsmen, and Gale and Han. Not to mention five newborns attached to their mothers, only two of those fighters. He was certain he’d faced worse odds, though it was hard to remember when as he nearly cut a finger off in his haste to cut through the ropes. 

“Gale! Sweet Creators woman look alive!” 

It was telling when Han turned to glare at him, but Gale turned her head to the trees. She cursed and jumped to her feet, calling to the other hunters. 

“You four gather the children and whatever happens, don’t let them out of your sight!” 

All three bears were going for Gale and Han. It was sheer luck they ran into Sulahn’s wards, flashes of fire and lightning crackling over their skin. Still, the first of the beasts reached them. At last, Mahanon’s knife sliced through the last of the rope, and he jumped to his feet. Han was shouting, barely getting his shield up in time as the bear bowled him over. Gale drove it back, but one of the others circled around them, headed for Mahanon and the children. Mahanon grabbed the nearest weapon he could find. A branch from the fire. He threw it the moment he had his hand on it, hitting the bear in the face and giving him time to grab a bow and a couple of arrows. The hunters behind him fire theirs, one even succeeding in hitting the mangy creature in the eye. 

Maddened it roared and rose on its hind legs, swiping at Mahanon. He rolled and knocked one arrow, going for the other eyes. He missed and the arrow bounced off. But the bear focused on him and he backed away, leading it to the outskirts of the camp. His hand throbbed but he ignored it, knocking the other arrow. The third bear had circled Gale and Han, going for the younger hunters and the children. Gale was bleeding, driving her sword into the bear’s skull. The young hunters formed a wall in between the children and the bear, not backing down. Mahanon fired his arrow, fully blinding the bear. He almost, _almost_ , felt sorry for it. But then it charged him, it’s growling pitiful. He rolled but not in time to escaped claws, ripping apart his shoulder. Gale and Han were on the second bear, and he knew he only needed to keep his busy. 

It was then the pace of the battle changed. His bear went from attacking to shaking it’s head and whining. It rubbed at the arrows in its eyes. Then it fled into the forest. Amazed he clapped his hand to his wounded arm, turning to see one bear dead and the other running back the way it had come. Gale and Han were both injured, but standing. None of the younger hunters had been hurt. The crush of mothers were soothing crying children. He walked back to camp, wondering if Dorian had managed to do something. He figured he had his answer when Istimaethorial stumbled out of her aravel. She was using her staff to prop herself up, eyes wild. Her eyes widened further in shock when she saw him. 

“Da’fen? You’re alive?” 

“Mostly.” 

She saw the blood running down his arm, and turned to her stricken clan. All of them shocked to see her on her feet. Turned her hard black eyes to Mahanon. 

“Where is Sulahn? I would speak with him.” 

Mahanon shook his head. “I don’t know Hahren. Nehn and Sam ran off, he’s with the rest of the hunters, looking for them.” 

She frowned and took a step forward. She stumbled and Mahanon caught her, helping her sit. She grabbed his arm, thing fingers steely as she forced him to look into her eyes.

“We need to find him. Soon. He tried to kill me.” 

Mahanon felt the wind get knocked out of him for the second time that day, but he only nodded. 

“Stay here.” 

~~

When Dorian came to, his hands had been bound behind his back, and he was propped up against a tree. Every muscle in his body was sore, and his head felt about two sizes too small for his brain. Sulahn was pacing in front of him, eyes all brimstone and fire. Dorian blinked, fairly certain he hadn’t done anything wrong. He found Assan  and Laya were hugging Nehn and Sam as if they would never let them go again, and the Eluvian was in pieces over the floor clearing. That brought his memory back and he relaxed. Well, as much as he could when Sulahn drew a knife and held it to his throat. 

“Give me one reason not to carve you open you fucking demon.” 

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “I am far too pretty to die?” 

“I would take him seriously.” 

Assan’s voice, glaring over the top of Nehn’s head. The rest of the hunters were stone-faced, and he knew he had no friends here. Only the Maker knew what Sulahn had been ranting about when he’d been unconscious. 

He sighed. “If I had been possessed, you would know it by now.” 

A couple of the hunters stepped back. Sulahn dug his blade in a little closer. Dorian felt it prick his skin. A trickle of blood ran down his throat, and he swallowed. Sulahn smiled, and for the first time Dorian saw how unhinged the man was. He bent to whisper in Dorian’s ear. 

“Shall I tell them? Tell them how Mahanon was your _property_. How you’ve probably warped his mind to make him love you.” 

Dorian snorted. “It’s destroying you isn’t it? That I didn’t have to do anything.” 

Wrong thing to say judging by the flash in Sulahn’s eyes. It was Sam who came to Dorian’s rescue. 

“Papa he _saved_ me. Why did you tie him up?” 

Sulahn snarled and turned his head. “What?” 

Sam flinched and buried his face back into his mother’s neck. She rubbed his back and gently pulled away to cup his chin. 

“What do you mean he saved you Samahl?” 

“The demon pretended. It said it was Papa. Dorian saved me.” 

That was all the courage he had. He buried his face back in his mother’s arms. She exchanged a worried look with her husband. Assan scratched his head. Dorian’s heart went out to the boy. It took mettle to resist a demon the way the boy had, especially in one so young. Dorian suspected he was a mage, and would become quite a powerful one. The rest of the hunters murmured to themselves, clearly at a loss. Sulahn yelled at them. 

“Clearly he warped Sam’s mind! First Mahanon then Samahl. The rest of you are next.” 

Some of the hunters backed away from Sulahn’s ire. Assan detached Nehn gently, handing her to her mother. When he rose, his face was hard. But his anger was directed at Sulahn. 

“Let him go. Sam’s mind is no more warped than my own.”

A few of the hunters seemed to agree, and Dorian felt some of the tension unwind from his gut. Then a new voice joined the others, and his heart lurched when Mahanon came into the clearing. His jaw was set, lines etched into his face as he saw Sulahn standing over Dorian with a knife. His eyes flicked to his family, then to Dorian. Dorian didn’t miss the blood on his arm, and groaned internally. _Why is he always bleeding?_ Then he met Sulahn’s angry gaze, and the man turned his head. 

“The camp was attacked. Istimaethoriel is awake. She wants Sulahn detained.” 

Before anyone could react, Sulahn turned tail and ran off. Confirming his guilt. Three of the hunters went after him without hesitation. Dorian didn’t care as Mahanon fell to his knees, drawing a knife. He reached around Dorian cut him loose in one swift motion. Then he was forced to drop the knife as Dorian crushed their lips together. Mahanon didn’t resist, rather he let Dorian hold him, responding enthusiastically. Then Dorian held him away, eyes going to his bloodied arm. 

“Please tell me you weren’t attacked by another bear.” 

Mahanon cleared his throat, ducking his head. “I would but I don’t want to lie to you.” 

Dorian sighed and pulled him close again. He had rather forgotten they were surrounded by a clearing full of elves. Mahanon just clung to him. He was warm and solid, banishing the last of the demon’s touch. Assan cleared his throat and they both turned, a little sheepish. 

“We better get back.” 

Mahanon nodded and stepped back, only to pull Dorian to his feet. He kissed him before going to check on Sam and Nehn. That left Dorian and Assan staring at each other, Assan’s eyes penetrating. Then he smiled and Dorian knew he’d done something right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know I'm playing with canon a bit. But that legend Mahanon told earlier is canon so I figured the bears guarding Falon'Din isn't too much of a stretch. Bear with me on the Eluvian, I borrowed that from both the Masked Empire and Inquisition. The way I see it it's feasible a demon could take over a stray eluvian like in Dragon Age 2, and after Briala activated them it could have had unexpected consequences. I'm pretty sure it's plausible if not canon. Let's see, the transition into canon is coming up fairly quickly, at least by the end of part 3. Wanted to include some action that didn't involve everyone dying before we get back into the bleak stuff. Thanks again for reading, you guys are amazing. I know we're getting into novel-length territory and I'm happy you guys have let me tell this story.


	22. The Road to Hell

_"The road to hell is paved with good intentions."_ \- Proverb 

When they returned to camp, the mood had changed. Where the clan had been somber and tense, now they were was an almost celebratory note in the air as everyone gathered around Istimaethoriel. Dorian was simply ignored by all but Mahanon, who led him off to a more private clearing. They continued what they’d started back by the altar, at least until Mahanon hissed. Dorian shook his head. 

“Shirt, off.” 

Mahanon rolled his eyes but pulled his shirt off with a wince. The bear had torn into his shoulder, claws slicing through his tricep. He’d bled through the bandage he’d haphazardly wrapped around it. 

“Well that looks nasty.” 

Mahanon shrugged one shoulder, tangling his fingers in Dorian’s belt and pulling him back. “It’s nothing.” 

“Ah yes, because ‘nothing’ often leaves me bleeding to death.” 

“I'm _not_ bleeding to death. It’s just a scratch.” Dorian opened his mouth to argue but Mahanon clapped his hand over his mouth. “I’m not ready to go back yet.” 

Dorian grunted and Mahanon pressed his forehead into Dorian’s chest. He wrapped his arms around the elf, more mindful of his injury, and leaned back against the tree. He wanted to ask what was the matter, but he knew. After a moment Mahanon raised his head. Clearly still troubled. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him. How could he have changed so much?” 

Dorian traced his fingers idly over Mahanon’s back. “Much as I loathe being the man to defend your old lover, I imagine losing you changed him. It would change me and I’ve known you a fraction of the time.” 

Mahanon’s eyes were soft when they met his. “Would it now?” 

“Don’t give me the calf eyes amatus.” 

He tempered his words with a kiss. Mahanon chuckled against his lips, and Dorian pressed his forehead to the elf’s. This sort of intimacy was still a novelty to him. To be idle with another man without the frantic need to bed him and leave. He could just _be_ with Mahanon. Still, he needed the elf to get his arm stitched up. He was just about to say so when someone coughed behind them. Mahanon didn’t seem surprised. Dorian was when he saw Assan. 

“Mahanon the Keeper wishes to speak with you. Sulahn evaded the hunters.” 

Mahanon sighed, not turning around. “I’m not his keeper lethallin.” 

“That’s for you to work out with her.” 

The elf ground his teeth together and Dorian pushed him gently. “Go. You need that arm taken care of.” 

Mahanon grunted and pulled his shirt back on. If Assan had anything to say about the scars, he kept them to himself. At least, until Dorian tried to follow Mahanon. Assan held up his hand. 

“A word, if you please.” 

Mahanon tensed but Dorian waved him on. The elf huffed but left. Assan waited and turned to Dorian, who leaned back on his tree and folded his hands. The older elf rubbed the back of his neck. 

“It seems I owe you an apology. And my gratitude.” 

That, Dorian hadn’t been expecting. He shook his head but Assan cut him off. 

“Please, hear me. You saved my son, whatever your motivation, I am in your debt. But more than that, you saved Mahanon. I was too quick to judge you back in the clearing. Thank you.” 

Dorian was stunned. He’d saved Mahanon because he couldn’t imagine a world without the elf, a selfish reason his book. He’d saved Sam simply because he couldn’t stand by and watch. He wasn’t a monster. 

“I didn’t do it for your thanks Assan.” 

The elf laughed. “Good.” 

Dorian found he laughed as well. Then he straightened. 

“I believe Samahl is a mage.” 

Assan sighed. “The Keeper said the same. I was afraid of that.” 

“Why would you ever be afraid of that? It’s a gift.” 

“Mayhap in Tevinter. It’s different for mages down here. Now I have to worry about more than my children being sold into slavery, or killed by a stray bear or an illness the Keeper has never seen before. I must add being kidnapped by humans to the list. Even if the circles have fallen, they may form again.” 

Dorian frowned. He honestly hadn’t thought of that. Assan waved his hand. 

“No matter. We’ll deal with it.” He seemed to hesitate, choosing his words. “Mahanon…he was your slave, wasn’t he?” 

Dorian held up his hands. “Not my choice. My father’s. But yes, he was.” 

Assan gave him a long look, taking the measure of him again. Dorian found he wanted the man’s approval, so he explained himself. 

“My father bought him. But almost from the moment I met him I knew I couldn’t keep him. He actually tried to strangle me when we met.” Assan cracked a smile and Dorian did too. “It was Mahanon who made me see how blind I’d been.” 

The elf glanced back at the camp, face full of affection and pride. “He’s…well.” 

Dorian agreed. Mahanon was…different. Not without his flaws, certainly. But there was something fiercely alive alive about him. Something vital. Dorian had become addicted to him, long before he’d ever even learned his name. It both disturbed and fascinated him. It was terrifying, this business of being a stranger in a strange land. But more terrifying still, would be the thought of walking away alone. Which begged the question of why he had a knot of dread in his belly, telling him losing Mahanon was not a matter of _if_ , but _when._ Assan shook his head, waving his hand. 

“Whatever your reasons, you’ve done right by my family. Come on, big shem like you probably needs to eat.” 

Dorian frowned. “Is that elvish for ‘fat?’” 

Assan let out a bark of laughter and walked off without answering. Dorian patted his trim stomach and followed. He couldn’t shake the dread though. 

~~

“No.” 

Han slapped the back of his head. “Show respect to your Keeper _Da’len_.” 

Mahanon growled at him, rubbing the back of his head. Han responded by “accidentally” driving the needle in too deep, making Mahanon wince. 

“Do that again and lose the hand.” 

Han ignored him, focusing on the wound. Mahanon turned back to Istimaethoriel, who was as calm as ever. She’d recovered rather quickly, and even though it was nearing sunset, she had decided _he_ needed to fetch Sulahn. 

“What makes you think I can even find him?” 

The Keeper raised an eyebrow. “Do I really need to explain my reasoning to you of all people?” 

“He could just attack me the same as he did you.” 

“He won’t. It’s you Da’fen. He would never raise a hand against you.” 

Mahanon snorted. “Up until today, I would have said the same of you.” 

“Are you a member of this clan or not? If you’ve decided to ignore my requests you are free to leave.” 

He threw his hands in the air. “Dirthara ma! This isn’t a request, it’s an order.” 

“If that’s the way you want to look at it lethallin.” 

Mahanon bit back another growl. “It is. Fine.” 

Dorian and Assan came back, both heading towards the Keeper’s aravel. That eased his temper at least. 

“Can I take Dorian with me at least?” 

Istimaethoriel shook her head. “If Sulahn sees him, he will bolt again. The sooner you go, the sooner you may return.” 

Mahanon grunted and Han tied him off. Dorian raised an eyebrow. 

“Go where amatus?” 

“After Sulahn. It seems he evaded our hunters.” 

He waved his hand towards the three that had gone after Sulahn, only to return vomiting up slugs. Dorian laughed and then stifled it with a cough when the others turned to glare at him. Mahanon turned his head so they wouldn’t see him smile. He pulled on his shirt again. He really needed a new set of armor. Dorian looked unhappy and Mahanon rose, kissing his cheek. 

“I’ll be back as fast as I can.” 

Dorian made a derisive noise but just nodded. Which was when Istimaethoriel set her sights on Dorian. 

“Until then, you can fill me on where Mahanon has been and what exactly you did to that priceless artifact of our people.” 

At Dorian’s trapped look she smiled evilly and Mahanon had to hide another smirk. He grabbed his cloak. The sun was almost down. While he didn’t relish going after Sulahn in the dark, he was worried about him. He had never stopped caring about him, and part of his heart would always belong to the man. Much as he detested that, looking at the sick hunters. Sighing he slipped out of the camp, feeling Dorian’s eyes on his back. 

As it turned out, Sulahn was easy enough for him to find. Just as the light died, Mahanon found him in the tiny graveyard the clan maintained in the forest. It was only visible if you knew what you were looking for. Trees, intentionally planted by the clan. Marking the graves of those unlucky enough to die here. Sulahn’s mother and father were buried here. As were Mahanon’s parents. The tree that marked his mother was smaller than the rest. His heart ached when he saw it. Too many emotions were buried here with her. He’d forced them down on purpose, first with drink then with self-imposed isolation. He had no urge to dredge them up now. When Sulahn saw him he just turned his head away, kneeling in front of his father’s grave. 

“Do you ever wonder what it would have been like, if they had lived?” 

“Sulahn I’m not here to have a heartfelt discussion under the stars.” 

Sulahn snapped. “No, of course not. You must get back to your master.” 

“You’re going to have to work a tad harder than that if you seek to wound me.” 

The mage got to his feet, eyes flinty. “I didn’t _mean_ to hurt her. It was an accident!” 

“If it was an accident, why did you run?” 

“Because accident or no, it was still my fault.” 

Mahanon sighed. “Then what did happen?” 

“I just…it was an Eluvian Mahanon. A relic. Do you have any idea how rare those are?” 

"Not really. But I do know how dangerous relics are. Elven or no.” 

Sulahn waved his hand. “Children’s tales. You always took those legends to heart.” 

“Remind me again how finding the magic mirror worked _in_ your favor.” 

The mage’s face hardened. “She wanted to destroy it. I couldn’t let that happen. The demon…” 

“Behaved exactly as you’d expect a demon to behave.” 

Sulahn hung his head. Istimarthoriel was more than his Keeper. She was his grandmother. Mahanon was tempted to believe him. Wanted to believe the man he had loved hadn’t intentionally tried to kill his last living relative. 

“If what you say is true, then come back with me. You have to own up to this. Running is a coward’s move.” 

“I _am_ a coward.” Sulahn spat. “You’re the one who stands and fights, I’m the one who runs.” 

Mahanon stared at him. Sulahn met his eyes, and they were bright with pain and unshed tears. He felt a knife twist in his gut. Sulahn turned his head, whispering, 

“It was my fault.” 

Mahanon reached for him, making Sulahn turn to face him. He grabbed both his shoulders. 

“No. Ma enansal it was _never_ your fault. I already killed the man responsible, it’s done.” 

Sulahn let his tears fall. “I keep destroying everything. I let the slavers take you, I let that demon hurt the Keeper.” 

Mahanon wiped his tears with his thumbs, shaking his head. “ _I_ was the one who insisted you run. That was never on you. Don’t do this.” 

He pressed his palm to Sulahn’s eye like he used to when they were kids. Clumsily rubbing at his face to wipe the tears. Sulahn sniffed and let out a choke laugh despite himself. He slapped Mahanon’s hand away, shaking his head. 

“You were never very good with tears.” 

“Not so much.” Mahanon offered a smile. 

Sulahn snorted, grabbing his staff. “Very well. I’ll go back with you.” 

Mahanon exhaled sharply in relief. “Thank you.” 

“I have nowhere else to go.” 

That was true. They walked on in silence, Sulahn clearly reluctant to return. Not that Mahanon blamed him. The rest of the clan was somehow less forgiving than he was. That, and Sulahn had given them cause. Apparently that wasn’t all that was weighing on Sulahn. 

“Why _him_ Mahanon?” 

Mahanon was surprised. Sulahn didn’t seem bitter. He looked sincere. Mahanon chewed it over, trying to pinpoint a reason the mage could understand. He was quiet for so long, Sulahn shot him a disappointed look before turning away. Finally, he answered. 

“I was supposed to be his pleasure slave.” 

Sulahn stopped, shouting. “What?” 

“That’s why his father bought me. So he could use me and still marry a woman. But he refused. Even after I tried to kill him. His father’s a magister, and he never once stopped fighting him to protect me. Not even when it would have been easier. He’s…very brave.” Mahanon rubbed the back of his neck. 

Sulahn seemed to consider that. “That’s you. I could be brave, if it was for you.” 

Mahanon shook his head. “Not for me. For yourself. This is for you.” 

“No it’s not. It’s because you’re back and I want to show you that I can be better than him.” 

“Fenedhis, it’s not a competition.” 

Mahanon stopped, running a hand over his face. His arm was starting to throb. They were close enough to the camp he quickened his pace. Sulahn’s turn to stop though, shaking his head. 

“I don’t want to do this.” 

Mahanon placed his hand on his back, nudging him forward. “Just tell the truth.” 

Sulahn sighed. “If you say so.” 

He let Mahanon push him into the ring of firelight. As soon as Sulahn was safely surrounded by hunters and facing the judgement of the clan, Mahanon found Dorian. There was a finality on the Keeper’s face, as Sulahn spoke, that he didn’t like. So while everyone else was preoccupied, he grabbed their things and pulled Dorian back into the woods. Even if it was just for the night, he wanted it to just be the two of them. Needed that, before whatever happened next. 

~~

The morning was bleak and chilly. Windy too. Mahanon was awake. He opened his eyes, took one look at the sky, and burrowed deeper into Dorian’s chest. He mumbled something against Dorian’s bare skin. Dorian laughed. 

“What was that?” 

Mahanon bit his chest and Dorian pulled away, to the tune of the elf’s laughter. “Vicious creature!” 

Mahanon only laughed, sitting up. He looked down at his chest, and Dorian smiled. He was quite proud of the mark he'd made on Mahanon's neck. 

“They’re going to think I was attacked.” 

“Well, in a sense, you were.” 

Mahanon gave him a sideways look and grabbed his clothes. He didn’t even shiver, despite the icy wind. Dorian crawled back into the nest they’d made out of the sleeping skins, though it was already uncomfortably cold without Mahanon. 

“Come on Dorian, time for breakfast.” 

Dorian groaned and got dressed. Mahanon watched, completely unabashed. Once Dorian had his robes on he grabbed the elf’s shoulders and spun him towards the camp. 

“Stop eyeing me like you’re going to have me for breakfast or we’ll never leave this forest.” 

“Is that such a bad thing? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do according to the stories? Lead the poor human away into the woods, never to return.” 

Dorian folded up their skins. “I’m a bit old for a changeling.” 

“I can think of other uses for you.” 

Dorian snorted, and then froze. There was a massive hart staring at him. It snorted, pawing at the ground. He straightened slowly. It was Mahanon who laughed. 

“Revas!” 

The mad elf actually ran up to the beast, palming its nose. When the creature snorted, bobbing its head, Mahanon wrapped his arms around its neck. The hart seemed as pleased to see him as he was to see it. Dorian shook his head. 

“Ah you see? This is much more in keeping with tales of mystical wood elves.” 

Mahanon ignored him, nuzzling the white fur of the creature. Dorian felt a strange surge of jealousy, for a damned overgrown deer. 

“Revas, this loudmouth is Dorian. Dorian, this is Revas.” 

The hart bleated and Dorian approached slowly. It was massive and white, haunches striped in red and blue paint. A beautiful creature.  _Revas_ snuffed at him and then went back to ignoring him in favor of Mahanon. Dorian rolled his eyes. He saw Assan join them, smiling. 

“I see you’ve met the real love of our dear Da’fen’s life.” 

Dorian nodded. “Yes, it seems I’ve been replaced by a pair of antlers and big brown eyes.” 

He did have to admit, they made a striking pair. The white hart and the elf. He glanced at Assan. 

“I’m sensing there’s a story here?” 

Assan’s gave him a half-smile. “There is, but it’ll have to wait. The Keeper has decided what to do with Sulahn.” 

“Hm. Mahanon I hate to intrude upon you and the deer but…” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

Mahanon gave Revas one last pat before turning away. Of course, Revas followed the three of them back to the main camp. Mahanon didn’t even try to hide his smile. It evaporated when they got to the others. They were gathered in a circle. Sulahn’s hands were bound in front of him, but it was clear he wasn’t running. When he saw Mahanon, he straightened his back, holding his head high. Though his eyes narrowed when Mahanon grabbed Dorian’s hand. He laced their fingers together so casually. It was the elf asking silently for his support. Dorian gave it gladly, squeezing his hand. He felt Mahanon relax, and a funny feeling rose in his own chest. This, this he could do. 

The Keeper finally addressed the gathered elves. She even used common, so that Dorian might understand. 

“Today, I must make a decision that weighs rather heavily on all of us. I’m sure most of you know by now that it was demon behind our many troubles these last weeks. A demon that, according to Sulahn, he unleashed unknowingly. Putting me to sleep so I would not interfere.” Sulahn had the good sense to turn his eyes to the ground, keeping his face neutral as the Keeper continued. “Do any of you vouch for what he has said?” 

It was of course, Mahanon that spoke up. “That is what he told me last night Hahren, that he never meant to hurt you.” 

“Be that as it may, he could have been lying to you, don’t you agree?” 

Mahanon’s jaw was tight, but he nodded. There were some murmurs of assent from the other elves. Dorian squeezed his hand again, having the feeling he might regret speaking. 

“I may have some insight into this.” No one stopped him so he kept speaking. “If I had to hazard a guess, the demon was targeting the mages of this clan specifically. When first you resisted, then Sulahn, it went after Samahl. That all of three of you resisted at all is remarkable. Sulahn may not have been entirely in his right mind.” 

It could have been Dorian’s imagination, but he swore he saw the Keeper’s lips twitch. Sulahn looked at him in shock. The elves started talking openly amongst themselves, arguing, some insulting Dorian. Some agreeing with him. Mahanon looked at him sideways, small smile on his lips. The Keeper held up her hands. 

“Should Sulahn be telling the truth, he must still be punished for his mistake. As it happens, I have a task for him. The humans are holding a conclave, and I want Sulahn to attend. As my First, it is his duty as well as a way for him to atone for what he has done. To ensure he returns safely, I want him to take Dorian and Mahanon.” 

_That_ , Dorian hadn’t been expecting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title was "Let's talk about our feelings. A lot." Not much in the way of notes today. Just to reiterate how awesome you guys and TheFaye92 are. This being sick business is kind of working out in one way at least.


	23. The Best Thing in the World

_“I mean, I really do think that love is the best thing in the world, except for cough drops. But I also have to say, for the umpty-umpth time, that life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all.” -_ William Goldman

 

Mahanon kept his temper in check long enough for the crowd to disperse, before approaching the Keeper as she sliced through Sulahn’s bonds. 

“You want me to go with him? I’ve been home two days!” 

“Keep your voice down lethallin. It’s unbecoming.” 

He clenched his jaw, spitting the words past his teeth. “Why me?” 

Sulahn met his eyes evenly. “Because I asked. I want you to come. Figured _he_ would come too.” 

“His. Name. Is. Dorian. And he-”

“Can speak for himself Mahanon.” Dorian placed a hand on his shoulder. “And I happen to think it’s a good idea.” 

Mahanon turned to face him, eyebrows raised. “What?” 

“You heard the rumors in Ostwick. This war between your mages and Templars is spreading. I don’t believe the elves can remain isolated forever. If we’re to have a life together here, then I want to help.” 

The Keeper shook her head. “That’s the other problem. Samahl is going to be my Second. We already have a First.” 

_Shit._ “And Dorian…” 

“Is an outsider, and as well as a mage. I am sorry lethallin. He cannot remain.” 

Dorian’s hand slipped off his shoulder, and he turned away. Mahanon swallowed as the implication hit him. He was going to have to choose, the clan or Dorian. The Keeper eyed him. 

“I know I am asking a lot of you.” 

Mahanon snorted. “You are very gifted at understatements Hahren.” 

“You have a choice Mahanon. Sulahn can go alone. You and Dorian, can remain until he returns. Then you may decide.” 

He shook his head, backing away. Then before he knew it, he was leaving the camp. Once more he found himself in the clearing, only now the forest felt more foreboding than ever. He paced for a few minutes. When that didn’t work he stripped off his cloak and drew his daggers. He sparred with himself for an hour, working himself into a sweat even as the rain started to fall. He ignored his wounded arm and bandaged hand entirely, though his left hand trembled on the hilt. Growling as the sprinkle turned into a downpour, water running into eyes and soaking his hair, he threw one of the daggers into the trunk of a tree. Dorian stepped into the clearing, and Mahanon threw the other one. Then the knife at his belt. Then he rounded on Dorian. 

“Can’t you say something?” 

Even under his hood, Mahanon could see Dorian raise his eyebrows. “What would you like me to say?” 

“That you don’t want to go. That you want to fight this. That you want me to choose you. Don’t you care?” 

“Is that what you want to hear?” 

Mahanon groaned. “Must you always answer a question with another question?” 

“Would you like me to answer in some other fashion?” 

He could _hear_ Dorian fighting a smile at his own cleverness. Mahanon swore before he grabbed the front of Dorian’s robes roughly. 

“If you’re capable.” 

Dorian grabbed him, fingers digging into his shoulders as forced his mouth to Mahanon’s. There was nothing gentle about it. It was only then Mahanon could feel Dorian’s own desperation, the tension in his body. It echoed his own. Dorian broke off first, eyes stormy. Mahanon pushed back his hood, suddenly needing to see Dorian as wrecked as he felt. 

“‘If you’re capable’. The nonsense you speak.” 

Mahanon growled and Dorian cupped his face in both hands. Trapping him. 

“I care very much. But I refuse to be the man who asks you to choose between your family and myself.” 

“I fucking hate this.” 

Dorian ran his thumbs over Mahanon’s cheeks. “As do I. Believe you me amatus.” 

The problem, Mahanon realized, was he’d already made his choice. He reached up and smoothed Dorian’s damp hair out of his eyes, hoping Dorian could see it. The mage crushed him to his chest, burying his face in Mahanon’s neck. Mahanon held him tighter, grieving the loss of his family all over again. 

~~

_He’d fallen asleep. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He sat up, panicking. His memory came back in pieces. The ball, Cade pushing him outside and onto the balcony, sneaking the bottle of wine. Then…he saw Cade sleeping soundly next to him. Dorian sucked in a sharp breath. His father was going to kill him. They’d been doing this for a year, but he had never been stupid enough to fall asleep. Cade stirred as Dorian’s feet touched the floor._ Maybe if I hurry… _Cade’s voice came to him, rough with sleep._

_“You don’t have to run off.”_

_Dorian flinched. Cade’s warm hand wrapped around his arm, tugging him back gently._

_“Don’t worry so much lover, just tell your parents you stayed over because you overindulged. Who’s going to say otherwise? The slaves?”_

_Cade snorted and Dorian found himself relenting. In fact, he was rather pleased._

_“Oh very well.”_

_Cade huffed and pulled Dorian to his chest, throwing the blanket back over them. The bigger man nuzzled into his neck, then stilled. Dorian felt a funny sort of warmth rise up his neck. Cade had never asked him to stay before. He reveled in it. He expected Cade to go back to sleep, but instead ran his hand over Dorian’s arm._

_“You’re awfully quiet.”_

_Dorian smiled, turning over. “You’ve never asked me to stay before.”_

_Cade’s green eyes were sparkling. He continued trailing his fingers over Dorian’s arm._

_“Just wanted to look at you.”_

_Embarrassed, Dorian ducked his head. “Cade?”_

_“What is it?”_

_“I think…I love you.”_

_He held his breath after blurting the words out. Heat creeped up his neck as the words hung between him. Cade sighed, removing his hand. Dorian knew the words had been a mistake then. The warmth in his chest was quickly replaced by a hollow feeling, and he swallowed._

_“Dorian…I like you. Maker, I do. But this can’t be anything more than us having fun. I’m sorry.”_

_Dorian got out of the bed, grabbing his clothes. He couldn’t look Cade in the eye._

_“Fasta vass. Dorian…”_

_“It’s alright.” Dorian forced a smile. “I just need to get back.”_

_Cade nodded, though he looked rather melancholy. Dorian straightened his clothes, and ran his hand through his tangled hair. He stood tall._

_“How do I look?”_

_Cade forced a tight smile of his own. “Incredibly dashing and only a touch debauched.”_

_Dorian bowed and then turned, forcing himself to walk steady and keep his features schooled until he was out of Cade’s sight. He didn’t see Cade again until his wedding, six months later. But by then, he’d already convinced himself he’d moved on._

They were sent off with a party. Dorian was surprised and pleased when the elves, solemn as they were, brought out wine they had brewed themselves. Which he partook of gladly, watching as Mahanon got drunk. He’d never seen the man drink before, and laughed when the elf even joined in with the dancers. The elves danced in a group, clapping their hands and stamping their feet. There were drums and lutes, and even a flute. Dorian laughed, enjoying himself. Able to forget for a moment he was a stranger here, and always would be. He almost didn’t see the Keeper as she materialized at his elbow. She looked well, for a woman who been comatose a week ago. She was watching Mahanon dance with a girl, palms pressed together, amused. Her eyes were bright, and he guessed he wasn’t the only one enjoying the wine. 

She glanced at him. “He chose you, didn’t he?” 

Dorian was taken aback, but he nodded. He didn’t quite believe it. Mahanon had chosen him, not once, but three times now. 

“Maker knows why.” 

She continued to eye him sideways. “You really don’t know?” 

He shook his head. It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about. He wasn’t worthy of Mahanon, he knew that. He was penniless, homeless, and from the very land that had destroyed his people. Dorian was well aware of his flaws. Istimaethoriel laughed. When he turned to her, puzzled with his buzz, she just patted his arm and walked away. 

“You’ll see soon enough.” She pulled something from her robes, a book. “He mentioned you’re a scholar of sorts. You might enjoy this.” 

She handed it over before walking away. _Well that was aggravatingly cryptic._ He looked down at the worn cover. It was small, but oddly comforting in his hands. It also had no title. He slipped it into his robes, shaking his head. Mahanon detached himself from the others, grabbing at Dorian. 

“Dance with me.” 

Dorian chuckled, wrapping his fingers loosely around the elf’s wrists. “I don’t know how.” 

“You just move your feet. Same as your shem dances.” 

He let Mahanon pull him up. The elf was so damned beguiling, eyes catching the firelight and copper cheeks slightly flushed with red. _This. I need to remember this._ He shook the thought off internally and let the elf drag him into a dance. He was clumsy at first, but the others just laughed as Mahanon guided him through the steps. It wasn’t terribly long before he caught on, and soon enough they were dancing in a circle, palms pressed together. 

His heart constricted with how happy he was. It was that moment he wanted to cling to, the one where Mahanon was hale and smiling and looking at _him_ like he was the only man in the world. Eventually, they needed more wine, and then danced some more. The night slowed a bit, marked by young hunters bringing their paramours furs, asking to marry each other. Dorian noted all of the couples were male and female, though no one seemed to care when a couple of men or women paired off and disappeared for the evening. 

Then there was the story-telling, either accompanied by lute or by voice alone. Dorian was slowly picking up elvish, but he could only catch a few words. It mattered not, with Mahanon slotted between his legs, leaning back to whisper the translation in his ear. 

At some point, as it was getting very late, a lute was pressed into his hands. It had been months, maybe years, since he’d played. Hard to recall with the wine. Mahanon was sitting on the grass, knees to his chest, watching intently. Dorian plucked the strings experimentally and played the first thing that came to mind. A ballad. The story was in Tevene, and he wasn’t sure if he should sing it. Were he home, he wouldn’t dare. But Mahanon nodded encouragingly, so he did. It was a melancholy tune, star-crossed lovers separated by years and oceans. A tale of love and betrayal, and heartache. Dorian was very glad only Mahanon could understand the words here, for they were only meant for him. At the song’s end it was Han who took the lute from him, shouting something about celebrating. But Dorian only had eyes for Mahanon, who grabbed his hand and led him away into the dark. Yet he knew he was safe as Mahanon’s lips found his hungrily. 

The only light came from the stars, and Mahanon’s eyes as they caught every stray strand. He stripped Dorian down, whispering the word “mine” over and over. He tasted like cherry wine. His hands were fire on Dorian’s skin, lighting him ablaze with every touch, slowly claiming him. Dorian realized, a little belatedly, that he was in love with the man. 

~~

Mahanon finished buckling Revas’ saddle. He smiled fondly as the hart bobbed his head impatiently. Turned out, Sulahn had been riding him in Mahanon’s absence, taking care of him. Mahanon stroked the rough white fur in front of him, waiting for Assan to get done with whatever he was saying to Dorian. He hadn’t told his uncle yet he wasn’t coming back. Not for a long while anyways. They were going to Haven, in Ferelden, and the clan was heading towards Wycome. They had all had enough of the forest. Mahanon didn’t like that they were traveling during the beginning of winter, but he understood the Keeper’s decision. 

The forest was quiet in the way it only was right before dawn, when the sky was grey and the trees were little more than shadows. There was a hush over everything, a quiet broken only by the occasional bird. Mahanon shivered slightly, pressing closer to Revas’ solid warmth. He was not relishing saying goodbye to the family he had only just found again. 

Dorian returned, not giving a clue as to what Assan had said, just patted Revas amicably. “Good deer.” 

Revas licked Dorian’s hair, making it stick up. Dorian glared at Mahanon.  

“You taught him that.” 

Mahanon chuckled and walked off to say his goodbye to Assan, Laya, Nehn, and Sam. He could still hear Dorian lecturing Revas on his manners as his family forced him into a tight group hug. Nehn and Sam had tears in their eyes, and he bent to hug both of them. 

“Hey hey, none of that now. You two have to take care of your father. He’s getting old you know.” 

“I can hear you lethallin.” 

Nehn, as usual, spoke for both of them. “Sam says this is it. You’re never coming back.”

Mahanon pulled back a little to look at Sam, who only buried his face in Mahanon’s neck. He sighed, hugging them both tighter. 

“I always come back. It might take me a little longer this time, but I _will_ come back. Ma’arlath.” 

Sam pulled something out of his pocket. He slipped it around Mahanon’s neck. He looked down to see a white halla on a leather thong. 

“Mamae says she’ll lead you home faster.” 

Mahanon kissed his forehead, fighting tears of his own. “She’s right Da’len.” 

Nehn kissed his cheek. Then he straightened. Laya smiled, and kissed his cheek as well. Even though she was his mother’s sister, they had never been particularly close. Still, she was blood. He figured that had to count for something. She cast her eyes at Dorian, and then patted his cheek. 

“Watch your back Da’fen.” 

He felt his jaw tighten but he nodded, gesturing towards Assan. “As long as you watch his.” 

She smiled, and for a moment he saw his mother again, strong as ironbark and equally as flexible. Then it passed and he turned his attention to Assan, who pulled him away. Assan rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. 

“We _just_ got you back.” 

Mahanon bowed his head. “I know.” 

Assan growled and pulled him into another hug. “He better be fucking worth it lethallin.” 

“How did you know?” 

“Please.” Assan held him tighter. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are.” 

Mahanon sighed, hugging him back. “Abelas.” 

“If you were that sorry, you wouldn’t go.”  He pulled back at Assan shook his head. “That wasn’t fair of me, was it?” 

“None of this is what I would call fair.” 

Assan snorted. “You’ve got that right. Do you love him at least?” 

Mahanon nodded. Assan shook his head again. 

“Creators keep you both then. You can’t make anything easy, can you?” 

He laughed, though it was hollow to his own ears. “You know me better than that.” 

“Just keep him close then.” Assan looked towards Laya, eyes soft for a moment. “Not that you ever listen to my advice anyways.” 

Mahanon grabbed him by his shoulders. It had been a long time since Assan had any height on him. He was glad when he didn’t have to say anything, Assan just nodded, cuffing his ear gently. 

“Aye I know. Get out of here.” 

“I’ll be back. I promise. This won’t be the last time.” 

Assan snorted. “At least we got to say goodbye this time.” 

“Not goodbye.” 

The older man rubbed the back of his neck again, but he nodded. “Go Mahanon. Be safe.” 

“You too Assan.” 

Mahanon turned to find Sulahn on his own red hart, Istimathoriel holding his hand. Then there was Dorian, sitting astride Revas like he’d always ridden the hart. Mahanon blinked. Revas tended to toss everyone who wasn’t him or Sulahn. But there Dorian was, sitting proudly. Mahanon strode over to him, and Dorian smiled, lending him his hand. 

“You really didn’t think I was going to ride pillion, did you?” 

Mahanon snorted and let Dorian pull him up. The sun had almost risen, and they had a long way to go yet. He took one last look at his family, and then wrapped his arms around Dorian’s strong waist. With Sulahn close behind, they were off. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if you can tell, but I listened to "Through Heaven's Eyes" from the Prince of Egypt soundtrack about nine million times writing this chapter. Let's see yeah no idea if Dorian actually can play a lute. I've been thinking about my next story and I may either be writing another AU on this tag, or writing something for the Cassandra/Inquisitor tag. As always thank you to TheFaye92 for being awesome and to you guys for reading this. Bonus points if you can guess the book the quote came from. Oh, and I decided to do oneshots for this universe as well. The first one is Ch. 12 of Like Real People Do. They'll be labeled DV in the chapter titles of that work.


	24. Invented Nonsense

_“Sin lies only in hurting other people unnecessarily. All other 'sins' are invented nonsense.”_ -Robert Heinlein 

 

It started to snow. Dorian marveled at it for a whole minute before he shivered. Mahanon, in control of the reigns, looked up. A few flaked dusted his eyelashes and fell into his hair. 

“Ferelden will be even worse than this.” 

Dorian sighed. “So I’ve heard.” 

“You’re the one who thought this would be a good idea, remember?” 

“Yes.” 

Mahanon chuckled and Dorian could feel it reverberate through his own chest. He tightened his hold on the elf’s hips. Long days in the saddle weren’t quite as awful as they could have been, pressed close together as they were. Mahanon made a contented noise in his throat, leaning back just a little into Dorian’s chest. As the snow continued to fall Dorian unpinned his robes and wrapped it around the two of them, taking the reigns from Mahanon. The elf snorted. 

“You did that just to be in control again.” 

“Who? Me?” 

Mahanon laughed again as Sulahn rode up next to them. “The storm’s getting worse.” 

“Aye.” Mahanon lifted the cloaks enough to point at a spot above them. “We should make camp up there.” 

Dorian caught a sudden memory of the last time he and Mahanon camped in a cave. Just as he was about to agree Revas stopped in his tracks, shaking his head and bleating. Sulahn’s hart, Alas, did the same. Mahanon hopped off, head turning as he looked around them. The hills were seemingly deserted. He glanced at the cave. That was when Dorian felt it. A slight pull of magic. Right where Mahanon was about to step. 

“Stop!” 

Mahanon froze, foot in the air. Dorian slid off the hart and pulled the elf gently behind him, waving his hand over the ground. The snow melted away, revealing a glowing purple ward. Mahanon cursed and drew his daggers as a man called to them from the direction of the cave. 

“Drop your weapons! You’re surrounded!” 

Dorian didn’t know how they’d done it, but two more men and one woman had, indeed, surrounded them. They emerged from the hills. Dorian swallowed at the arrows trained on Mahanon and himself. Sulahn snarled, still mounted. Mahanon dropped his daggers, raising his hands above his head. 

“What do you want?” 

Dorian’s hands itched for his staff. He flexed his fingers, pulling at his magic, the woman clucked her tongue. 

“None of that now.” 

Mahanon glared at her. “I asked what you what do you want from us shem?” 

“Your food.” 

Dorian blinked, looking a bit more closely at their would-be robbers. Their clothes were tattered, faces gaunt and hungry. Mahanon must have noticed it to. 

“Very well.” 

Sulahn snapped at him. “What? We’re not giving these fucking shemlen-”

“Sulahn, shut up.” 

Mahanon kept his hands up, looking at the woman. “I’m going to reach into my saddlebags, alright?” 

She nodded. Dorian looked towards her compatriots. One of the men was staring at Sulahn. 

“Hold up a minute. They’re both mages.” 

The woman frowned. She had a hard face. The frown did her no favors, twisting a scar at her mouth further. 

“So what?” 

The man tilted his head. “Are either one of ya a healer?” 

Sulahn clamped his jaw shut. Mahanon paused, exchanging a glance with Dorian. At his slight nod Mahanon jerked his thumb at Sulahn. 

“He is.” 

“Rose we could use him.” 

Sulahn growled. “As if I would help-”

Mahanon shot him a glare and Sulahn quieted. Rose look conflicted. The man went on, speaking steadily. 

“We have a friend in the cave. She needs help. You can keep the food if you help her.” 

Rose narrowed her eyes. “Daniel.” 

The man lowered his bow. “Sarah’s going to die without help. You know it as well as I do.” 

The woman cursed, but lowered her bow. As did the third man, big and silent as a grave. Dorian made a note not to turn his back on him. Mahanon and Sulahn stared at each other, and Dorian knew Mahanon was arguing silently with the elf. Finally, Sulahn broke eye contact and dismounted. Mahanon bent and grabbed his daggers, stowing them in Revas’ saddlebags under Rose’s watchful gaze. 

Leaving the harts where they were, snorting softly in the snow, the three of them were “escorted’ to the cave. There, Dorian was surprised to find a mage, a tranquil, and woman lying on a pallet. Her leg had been injured. The angry read streaks of blood poisoning were clear, and she was feverish. The tranquil man was hovering over her, trying to change seeping bandages. The mage got to her feet but had to brace her hand on the wall, weak from hunger. Mahanon looked to Rose. 

“You’re Templars, aren’t you?” 

Rose just turned away. Daniel knelt next to the woman, who Dorian assumed was Sarah. He grabbed her hand, smoothing her hair from her eyes. She offered him a weak smile, then glanced worriedly at Dorian, Mahanon, and Sulahn. 

“Who’re they?” 

Daniel squeezed her hand. “They’re here to help you.” 

The look of love in her eyes was such Dorian turned his head, feeling like an intruder. Mahanon was frowning at the state of the cave and its inhabitants. It smelled dank, the stale stink of the sick combining unpleasantly with the natural earthy smell of the cave. Sulahn went to work while the others watched. All eyes were on Sarah and Sulahn, and even Rose didn’t noticed Mahanon’s slight gesture towards Dorian. They crept outside, the elf shaking his head. 

“We should give them our stores.” 

Dorian sighed. “Mahanon in case you haven’t noticed, it’s snowing. There may not be enough game further down the road.” 

“We’re only a week away from Ostwick. They need it more than we do.” 

He took a second glance at the elf. Mahanon caught it and shrugged one shoulder.

“What?” 

Dorian shook his head with a smile. “Nothing amatus, just never realized what a bleeding heart you had.” 

Mahanon snorted. There was a shuffling noise inside, and a small commotion. Both of them turned and stepped back into the cave. Sulahn had finished his work, and Sarah’s leg was completely healed. Daniel had tears in his eyes, thanking Sulahn profusely. Rose had a hand on his shoulder, eyes almost soft as she looked at Sulahn. 

“Thank you elf. You don’t know what this means to my brother.” 

Sulahn didn’t say anything. Just turned to Mahanon. 

“We should be on our way.” 

Mahanon nodded. “Rose is it? Will you come with me a moment?” 

She was uncertain, but followed them into the snow. Revas and Alas were right where they’d left them. Revas snuffed at Dorian’s hair while Mahanon reached into their saddlebags. He threw a warning glance at Sulahn when the man protested, handing their food over to Rose. 

“That should tide you over for a few days.” Mahanon said softly. 

Rose shook her head. “We can’t take this. It wouldn’t be right.” 

“Sure it would. You were going to rob us anyways.” Mahanon winked. 

Rose smiled and Dorian did the same. Maker he was lost on the elf. The woman gathered up the food and retreated to the cave hastily. Mahanon mounted Revas, reaching his hand down to Dorian. Sulahn proceeded to rant in elvish, not stopping until the wind howled even louder, drowning him out. Mahanon ignored him, leaning back into Dorian’s chest. That night, they went to bed hungry. 

~~

Sulahn rolled the knife in his hands, moving his fingers over the wolf carved into the handle. It’s weight had long been a comfort to him. Particularly those times Mahanon had been away on a hunt, or more recently in the months Sulahn had been convinced he was never coming home. He sighed, shivering into his cloak. He was trying his best not to think about Mahanon and that fucking shem he’d brought home. It was difficult, what with them curled up behind him. Part of him was still hoping Mahanon would make the right decision. But the closer they got to Ostwick, the more he doubted it. 

Creators it hurt. He’d love nothing more than to drive his knife into Dorian, if he didn’t think Mahanon would kill him for the deed. And it wouldn’t change the fact Mahanon had fallen in love with someone else. So he sat on watch, alone with his hurt. He couldn’t even look forward to returning to the clan, after he’d screwed up so badly. He’d be lucky if they trusted him again. Sulahn was so lost in thought he didn’t hear Mahanon until he sitting down next to him. He grabbed the knife without asking, smiling. 

“I remember this.” 

Sulahn wrapped his arms around his knees, resting his head on them. “Do you?” 

“Of course.” Mahanon started playing with it. “How long’s it been now?” 

“Eight years.” 

Mahanon paused, handing the knife back. “Feels longer.” 

Sulahn grunted. Mahanon sighed. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. None of this is what I wanted.” 

Sulahn curled further into himself. There had never been a time he and Mahanon hadn’t been at least friends. Able to talk about anything. Sulahn would give almost anything to have that back, but he wasn’t sure where to start. He opened his mouth to try, but the sound of thrashing behind them stopped him. Mahanon cursed and went to Dorian, who was having one of his nightmares. Sulahn turned away as Mahanon woke Dorian up gently, murmuring to him. Comforting him. He watched the two of them for a moment. It ached, how gentle Mahanon was with Dorian. How soft his eyes were. 

Before he’d left he’d been withdrawn, drinking heavily and gambling in human taverns. Now, when he was absent Dorian he was restless, eyes roaming the trees for signs of danger. Mahanon had always been energetic, preferring running and climbing to walking. But this nervous energy that came off of him now was entirely different. He had new lines on his face, new scars, and new shadows behind his eyes. Sulahn forced his eyes back on the night. It was entirely possible what he really hated was that he couldn’t save Mahanon from what he’d been through. He’d still rather hate Dorian though. 

~~

They arrived at Ostwick at last. The city was partially shrouded in fog, misty and quiet in the late afternoon. It sprawled out in shadows and hard stone next to the iron-grey sea. This was the part Mahanon had been dreading. He was still wary of other people. Dorian squeezed his thigh. 

“I only want to check the tavern. We can camp outside of the city tonight.” 

Mahanon shook his head. “I know you’re aching for a bed.” 

Dorian laughed softly. “I am at that.” 

Sulahn pulled up next to them. He shook his head. 

“Stop me if you’ve heard this before. A Vint and two elves walk into a bar…” 

Mahanon snorted. “And all three say ‘ow.’” 

“Have I clearly expressed what a terrible idea I think this is?” 

“Yes Sulahn.” Mahanon kneed Revas gently. “At length.” 

Sulahn grumbled as they descended the hill. They had enough money from the Keeper for passage to Ferelden for them and the harts. Dorian straightened behind him, and Mahanon smiled. The real reason they were going through Ostwick, outside of Kirkwall being a mess, was to see if any letters had arrived from Felix. Or word of his health. Mahanon frowned as he dismounted Revas, guiding him through the city streets. There were more people begging on the streets, elves and humans alike.  _Refugees_. It was with regret he had nothing to offer them. Bothering him as they made their way back to the Drunken Druffalo. 

Mahanon made Sulahn go with Dorian to book a ship once they’d secured a room, taking the harts to the stables. The stableboy, an elf, stared at Mahanon in shock. He smiled to ease the boy. 

“Mind if I help you rub them down?” 

The boy shook his head. “No Messere.” 

Mahanon handed him Alas’ reigns. “This is Alas. He’s a helluva lot nicer than Revas.” 

“If you say so Messere.” 

“Serah lad, not Messere. What’s your name?” 

The boy gave him a small smile from around Alas, before leading him into his stall. “Harry, M-Serah.” 

Mahanon swallowed the lump in his throat that came from that, before leading Revas into his stall. This was not a task he’d ever left to anyone else if he could help it. Harry kept a lid on his curiosity for all of a minute before he asked. 

“Your Dalish, ain’t ya?” 

“I am.” Mahanon started brushing through Revas’ coarse fur. 

He could hear Harry doing the same to Alas. “Where’d ya get the beasties?” 

Mahanon snorted. “Alas was a gift to my friend. Revas here I found.” 

“What’s that mean Serah? Revas?” 

“Freedom.” 

Harry blurted out his next words. “That’s not a very good name…” 

Mahanon chuckled. “I know.” 

They fell into silence then, Harry evidently using up all of his courage. Mahanon was glad. The quiet moment with Revas calmed him, steadied his hands. The hart seemed to sense his agitation. Mahanon had found him just five years ago as a fawn. He’d been stuck alone in a blizzard at the time, hunkering down in the hollow of a tree. He’d found Revas bleating, as alone as he’d been. When the storm had blown out he’d searched for the mother, and found her dead, brought down by a wolf pack, or so he assumed. He had never been particularly drawn to animals before, always at odds with the predators in the forest, and the halla tended to prefer the gentler members of the clan. 

Revas had been different for some reason, still was. Mahanon was glad he’d stuck with the clan and Sulahn after he’d been captured. He finished rubbing him down and feeding him, lingering. He needed a break from Sulahn and Dorian both, and the tension between the two. Most of it was on Sulahn’s end, admittedly. He knew he’d messed up where Sulahn was concerned. He didn’t deserve what Mahanon had done, not when things between them had never actually ended. Revas bumped him gently, Mahanon rubbed his head, smoothing the skin between his eyes. Harry emerged, eyes still wide. 

“What’s that like? Being Dalish?” 

Mahanon scratched his temple.  _It’s better than being a slave._  While he was mulling over his answer, he heard shouting from the tavern. Sighing internally he followed Harry out into the street. A crowd was forming up. That never bode well. He found Dorian and Sulahn, looking for him. 

“What is it?” 

Sulahn’s teeth were clenched. “The humans have found sport. A mage.” 

Mahanon stiffened. They’d hidden Dorian and Sulahn’s staves in their room. But Sulahn had fire in his eyes. He pushed his way through the crowd. At its center, a man was on his knees, being dragged up by his hair. His hands were bound behind him, and he was covered in cuts, blood trickling down his face and mouth. There was a third man, leering at the crowd. Some people were cheering. No one moved to help the mage. It was too much, felt too familiar. Mahanon felt something inside of him snap, rage building. Before he knew it he was in the center of the crowd, slamming his fist into the first man’s jaw. It was rather satisfying until the man swung back. Mahanon ducked and went for his stomach, making the man double over. 

“Fucking animal!” 

Mahanon had sort of forgotten about the second man. He was a brute, spinning Mahanon and hitting him in the jaw. Mahanon had just enough time to watch Dorian stride up casually, tap the brute on the shoulder, and then punch him in the nose. Then the first man was on Mahanon again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sulahn, helping the mage to his feet and taking him away from the crowd. Mahanon didn’t know or care what they were doing. He head-butt his man, watching the man’s eyes roll up into his head. He let him drop and turned to find Dorian was gloriously outmatched. Which turned out, because the tavern keeper of all people had pushed his way into the fight. One hit from the giant, and he’d knocked the brute out. Then he turned to Dorian, who was developing a black eye, and had blood tricking from his cheek. 

“Why is it always your elf?” 

Dorian’s eyes found Mahanon’s, shaking his head. “I have no bloody idea.” 

Mahanon closed the distance between them, cupping Dorian’s neck. “Are you alright?” 

Dorian rolled his eyes. He cupped Mahanon’s chin, wiping blood off his lip. Mahanon hadn’t even noticed he was bleeding until he felt the sting of the cut. He grinned, panting slightly as the rush of the fight started to fade. Dorian shook his head. 

“You are quite mad.” 

Mahanon reached up and poked at his cheek. “I need to teach you how to guard.” 

“What you need to do is buy me some decent wine amatus. I was  _injured_.” 

“I noticed.” 

Mahanon pulled him into a rough kiss, ignoring his bleeding lip, before the tavern keeper cleared his throat.

“I can help with the wine.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know on this chapter. It's both necessary and not at the same time because y'all know the war is bad what with the Hinterlands literally being on fire because of it. But TheFaye92 has more faith in my writing than I do so here we go. We will have plot next chapter, promise.


	25. Which Would Prove I'm a Monster?

_“Which would prove I'm a monster, Arnie? Sacrificing the people I love for the fight? Or walking away from the fight to save the people I love?”_ - David Wong

 

Mahanon grabbed the wine and joined Dorian at the table. He was examining his hand, frowning. 

“I look like a common brawler.” 

“That’s because you got in a common brawl ma vhenan.” 

Dorian sniffed and Mahanon grabbed his hand as he sat, kissing the split skin over his knuckles.  The mage smiled at him before drinking the wine. He made a face, shaking his head. 

“The things I do for you. Living like a savage, fighting like some _thug_.” 

Mahanon snorted. “I _did_ take a dagger for you.” 

Dorian glared at him. “Still too soon.” 

He laughed as Sulahn flopped down into a chair next to him, taking Mahanon’s cup and drinking the whole thing. Mahanon waited, eyebrow raised, until Sulahn set it down and wiped his hand. 

“Feel better?” 

“No.” Sulahn was no glaring at him too. “That was stupid.” 

Mahanon glanced at Dorian who held up his hands. “Don’t look at me. He’s right.” 

“You always have to be fucking Garahel.” 

Dorian cocked his head. “The Grey Warden?”  

Sulahn nodded. “Mahanon’s hero.” 

“He ended a Blight. What’s wrong with that?” 

Sulahn waved his hand in agitation. “Nothing except when you remember he ended the Blight by _dying_.” 

Mahanon shrugged. “I’m not signing up to be a Grey Warden am I?” 

Dorian chuckled. When both Sulahn and Mahanon looked at him he shrugged one shoulder. 

“I always _did_ love a man in uniform.” 

To Mahanon’s surprise, Sulahn laughed. The tavern keeper approached their table, with ale instead of wine. He set them down with a grunt. 

“On the house.” 

He turned away before they could say anything. Or even ask the man’s name. More patrons were starting to trickle in. Mahanon kept his back to the wall, and his eyes on the door. Dorian was looking around. 

“What happened to the mage?” 

Sulahn shook his head. “He let me untie him then bolted.” 

“I don’t blame the poor sod.” Dorian took a sip of ale and wrinkled his nose. “What _am_ I drinking?” 

Mahanon took a sip himself. “Ferelden beer.” 

“Hmm.” He swallowed down some more. “I don’t like it.” 

“If you say so.” 

Sulahn snorted and swallowed a gulp of his. “Feel free to hand it over.” 

Dorian harrumphed and kept drinking. Mahanon winked at Sulahn and the elf shook his head. 

“For what it’s worth, you did a good thing. A stupid thing, but a good thing.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” Dorian raised his mug. 

Mahanon rolled his eyes but drank with them. He found himself relaxing, just a little. The night wore on and for once, Dorian and Sulahn were talking to each other easily. He was able just to sit back, and let the warmth and noise of the conversation swirl around him. Better still when they went to bed. It was the rare tavern room with two beds, and Sulahn immediately passed out in one of them. Mahanon was more than happy to curl up on Dorian’s chest, while he pulled out a thick stack of letters. 

“Well somebody missed you.” 

Dorian snorted. “Some of these are from Harry. For you. Mae’s doing I suspect.” 

He started sorting them out. Of the nine, he put three letters in a stack for Mahanon. Five for him. One he separated out, and Mahanon could feel his heart rate speed up as he looked at it. Mahanon didn’t have to ask who it was from. He extricated it gently from Dorian’s fingers before reaching over and sticking the edge in the candle. They watched it burn up together. Dorian pulled him in for a kiss. Mahanon resettled on his chest and Dorian reached for the letters, starting with Felix. He found he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and let them slide close to the rustling of the paper. 

~~

Dorian did not like what he read. Felix wrote that he was well enough, but Alexius was slowly going mad. He was trying to find a cure, and more than that, he had found some new allies to help him. The Venatori. Dorian half-remembered the name. Mahanon let out a soft snore on his chest and he remembered, with grim humor, he’d been too distracted by the elf to pay attention when Mae had spoken of them. He reached for her letter next and, sure enough, it spoke to the Venatori having an increased presence in Minrathous. Mae was keeping tabs on them, preparing a fight. She said they were dangerous, extremists who wanted to capture the glory of the old Imperium. He nearly laughed out loud at the absurdity of that. _Yes let’s see if we can top this whole Blight business._

He got a second letter from Felix, saying he and his father were going to Redcliffe, to speak with the rebel mages. Alarmed, he raced through that letter only to move straight to Alexius’. His old mentor wanted to see him. To help him, now that he had fled home. Alexius wanted Dorian to meet him in Redcliffe. Promised he would be less cryptic, if only Dorian would join him. That he could give Dorian what he had always wanted, a way to save his homeland from itself. He thought back to their latest project, an amulet that would allow one to travel through time, and reached for Felix’s last letter. 

_Dorian_ , 

_Forgive me my friend, I write this in haste. I need your aid. My father has quite lost his mind, I am certain of it. We sail for Redcliffe in the morning with these Venatori. I don’t trust them Dorian, and I don’t trust this plan. He is distraught, cooped up in his study all day, muttering about ‘if only if only.’ He blames himself for Mother’s death, and I think he will do anything to bring her back. Or to save my life. Please, come to Redcliffe. Bring Mahanon if you must. I need your help. Ever your friend,_

_Felix Alexius_

“Fasta vass that tears it.” Dorian whispered out loud. 

He looked down at the sleeping elf in his arms and he knew, _knew_ , he couldn’t let Mahanon within a hundred leagues of another Magister. Safer to go to the conclave. But he couldn’t let this go. If Felix was begging for his help, then Dorian needed to go. There wasn’t time for both. He cursed under his breath and blew out the candle. But he didn’t sleep. He needed to think. 

~~

Something was wrong. Mahanon felt it the second he woke up. Dorian was upset. It was even easier to tell when somehow the man got _more_ sarcastic. But Mahanon couldn’t get him alone long enough to figure out what was going on. They set sail that afternoon. Even then, Dorian continued to avoid him for another day. How that was possible on a ship, Mahanon wasn’t sure. Not until Dorian stumbled back into their cramped quarters, pale and clammy. He went straight to the bed hollowed out of the wall and lay down. 

Sulahn raised an eyebrow from the top bunk. “Didn’t you say he grew up _by_ an ocean?” 

“Vishante kaffas.” Dorian muttered into his pillow. 

Mahanon hid a smile and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Dorian’s back. But then Dorian rolled away from him, facing the wall. 

“Leave me with it.” 

Mahanon sighed, resting his hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “Dorian-”

“I said leave me with it! I know your ears work perfectly well.” 

He worked his jaw but got to his feet. “Very well.” 

He heard Dorian roll back over but he left anyways, going to the deck. Sulahn joined him after a moment. Mahanon didn’t speak, just let the cold mist of the ocean wash over him. He already felt guilty for leaving the room. Dorian was sick after all. Sulahn snorted and Mahanon tilted his head. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Mahanon waited and Sulahn shook his head. “I just find it amusing you found someone almost as stubborn as you.” 

Mahanon turned his head back to the water. “Here I thought you were going to try and stab him in his sleep any day now.” 

Sulahn grunted, not bothering to deny it. “He did save you. And Sam. That, and watching him get hit in the face really warmed me up to him.” 

Mahanon chuckled and Sulahn joined him. That was a good sound. He hadn’t heard Sulahn laugh so easily since before he was taken. He knocked their shoulders together and Sulahn smiled. Then he pulled the knife from his belt, leather sheathe and all, handing it to Mahanon. 

“I think you should hang onto this. Give you something to remember me by when the two of you leave.” 

Mahanon held it loosely in his palm. The wolf was almost faded by now. He shook his head. 

“I made this for you.” 

“I know. Humor me. I think it’ll serve you better. Besides, you _like_ knives.” 

He grinned, sliding the knife into his boot. “That I do. Thank you.” 

Sulahn shrugged. “You really aren’t coming back then?” 

Mahanon reached over and squeezed his arm. He wasn’t sure what he and Dorian were going to do after the conclave. He supposed it depended on if it was successful or not. Like it or not, he was starting to give a shit about the humans and their problems. His own recklessness had shown him that. He wanted to fight. Though for what, he wasn’t sure. Eventually, Sulahn left him to his thoughts, and Mahanon went down to the cargo hold to check on Revas and Alas. 

Revas was almost as sick as Dorian. Worried, Mahanon tended to him. He was glad the trip across the Narrow Sea would be far shorter than their trip to Ostwick had been. Mulling that over he sat down in the hay with Revas, leaning against the hart’s side. He pulled out Harry’s letters, ruffling through them. He was glad, that for all the people he’d let down, Harry had survived and seemed to be thriving with Mae’s help. He almost didn’t notice Dorian come in. He had a half-empty bottle of wine, and looked like he’d been through the wringer. He sat down heavily next to Mahanon, resting against Revas. The hart was a bit more sympathetic than Mahanon, turning his head and nuzzling Dorian gently. Dorian reached up and rubbed his nose. He handed the bottle of wine to Mahanon. 

“You should drink that before I say what I need to say.” 

He eyed Dorian warily before taking a sip. It was sour. 

“Should you be drinking? At all?” 

Dorian waved his hand dismissively, before looking Mahanon in the eye. He could tell Dorian was forcing himself, and suddenly felt a surge of fear. 

“I have to go to Redcliffe. Alone.” 

Mahanon’s gut clenched, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Start from the beginning.” 

So Dorian did. He explained about Felix, Mae, and Alexius. As well as everything he’d learned on the Venatori. Mahanon waited until he was done, listening to all of it. Then he nodded. 

“You’re right. That can’t wait. But why can’t I go with you?” 

Dorian sighed, patting Revas rather than look straight at Mahanon. “Because I can’t put you in danger like that. Not again. Alexius is unstable. I’m not sure if _I’ll_ be safe.” 

“I can handle danger Dorian. You’re asking me to abandon you. After everything we’ve been through I thought…” 

Suddenly Dorian’s hands were cupping his face. The despair on his face almost shattered Mahanon. Dorian kissed him. 

“You thought right. But I cannot watch you die. I-”

His voice broke. He swallowed and dropped his hands to Mahanon’s shoulders, hanging his head. His thumb traced Mahanon’s jaw, and when he spoke again his voice was soft. 

“I never thought I could have anything like this. I don’t know if I could handle losing you again. Let me do this. Please.” 

Mahanon felt tears prick at his eyes but he blinked them back. “Dorian I-”

Dorian kissed him again. After a moment Mahanon growled, pulling back slightly. 

“I’m meeting you there after the conclave. You have that long to fix things.” 

Dorian nodded. “Very well. I guess I had best make Alexius see reason then.” 

Mahanon pulled him back into a kiss. He was terrified their luck would run out this time. That this was it. So he was determined to make the most of the days they had left. 

~~

What surprised Dorian the most, was that Sulahn offered to come with Mahanon after. When they both turned to him in astonishment he shrugged, 

“Mahanon needs a healer within twelve feet of him at all times.” 

Dorian supposed he wouldn’t be overly eager to go back to the clan either. But he was grateful. Sulahn wasn’t exactly wrong, even if he was jesting. Which was how they found themselves on the outskirts of Lake Calenhad. It was time to part ways. Mahanon handed Dorian Revas’ reigns. 

“Take him. You can keep each other safe.” 

He shook his head. “I’m not taking your deer.” 

Mahanon rolled his eyes. “He’s fast and intelligent. You don’t have the luxury of walking and you won’t find a better mount between here and Redcliffe, I guarantee it.” 

He was right. Dorian sighed, taking Revas in hand. The hart, of course, licked his hair. Mahanon laughed brokenly and Sulahn ducked his head, turning towards the lake. 

“I think I see fish.” 

He wandered off and Mahanon pulled Dorian into a harsh kiss. Dorian clung to him, memorizing the feel of the man in his arms. Even as the cold wind whipped around them, he was warm. As lean as the elf was, he was surprisingly dense with compact muscle, and Dorian held him even tighter. Then he was spurred by an idea. He pulled away from Mahanon and grabbed the birthright from around his neck, slipping it over the elf’s head. Mahanon glanced down at, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s still ugly.” 

Dorian snorted. “That’s not the point. It’s very important to me. You are to return it to me in the same condition it is now. And do be quick about it.” 

Mahanon smiled, eyes a bit too shiny for Dorian’s liking. He braced the elf’s shoulders. 

“You know how I feel about goodbyes.” 

The elf sniffed. “I know. I hate you too and all that rot.” 

Dorian kissed his forehead and forced himself to step away before he no longer could. He mounted Revas, already shivering. Mahanon kissed the hart on the nose and then stepped aside. Dorian swallowed heavily and spurred the hart on, not looking back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter I was super excited to write(yeah I like writing angst, though I think that shows) Also super excited for the next couple of chapters if that tells you anything. Thank you guys for the comments on the last chapter it definitely made me feel better about it. Y'all are awesome. I'll try to write a one-shot or something as a thank you but I'm on the mend so gotta do life things again. Once again thanks to TheFaye92, not sure I could do it without you buddy.


	26. Their Paths Were Laid

_“But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually — their paths were laid that way, as you put it.”_ -J.R.R. Tolkien 

 

Mahanon watched Dorian ride away, a ball of ice in his stomach as the mage went. He had never had much faith in the Creators, if only for the fact they couldn’t even protect themselves, let alone their people. But he was willing to pray just then, to them, to the Maker, to anyone who would listen if they would just keep Dorian safe. If only as long as it took for them to be reunited. Heart already heavy with regret, he turned away only when Dorian was out of sight. Fog rolled off the lake. It didn’t take long. 

Sulahn placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and Mahanon let him push him forward. He needed it. He climbed into Alas’ saddle, Sulahn behind him. Mahanon urged Alas towards the foothills. Unfortunately, they weren’t the only people headed for the conclave, and they stood out. It could have been worse. As they climbed Mahanon saw more than one elf, and a few were even Dalish. He also saw some dwarves and, for only the second time in his life, a pair of qunari. 

It felt like an age and no time at all before they were high in the mountains, in between Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes Mahanon swore he’d never been so cold. It didn’t help he had no urge to go anywhere near the other people. He and Sulahn found a quiet place to camp, near the other Dalish. There were regular patrols of Templars through the camp. Mahanon kept himself between them and Sulahn. It was a reaction, born from years of doing the same thing with members of the clan. Yet for the most part, they were left alone. 

Mahanon still found himself keeping watch while Sulahn slept, and pretending in the morning he wasn’t exhausted. In the mornings they trudged up to the Temple with everyone else, milling around for the peace talks. Mahanon found himself growing more frustrated. As Dalish they were mostly kept outside of anything important. About a week of not sleeping and quiet rage at what appeared to be _nothing_ happening began to take their toll. After the fact, Mahanon figured it was inevitable he found himself in trouble. 

~~

Dorian ran his thumb over Mahanon’s seashell. Funny, how he wouldn’t part with it for all of the gold in Thedas. It was rough with tiny spikes of iridescent blue stabbing into his finger. He was waiting, albeit impatiently, for word from Felix. Camped outside of Redcliffe, he kept having to move to avoid stray Templars and mages alike. No one had warned him the Hinterlands would be on _fire_. So far he had been able to take care of himself. Others weren’t so lucky. He saw the remnants of brutality everywhere he went, including overturned carts and the smoldering remains of bodies inside. 

Part of him supposed it was inevitable. Mages back home were out of control. Mages here were taught self-loathing almost from birth. They were controlled rather than being taught control.That couldn’t last forever. Dorian looked up from his musings to find the boy he’d paid to find any word of Felix or his father. That had been a surprise, his first night alone. Mahanon, being Mahanon, had snuck the last of his purse into Revas’ saddlebags. It had aggravated him until he’d gotten to the Hinterlands. He didn’t want his presence known just yet, and didn’t dare go into Redcliffe blind. He tucked the shell away as the boy ran up, shaking his head. 

“It’s like I said m’lord. No Vints in town. Only regular apostates and the like.” 

Dorian frowned, handing the boy more coin. “Very well. Thank you. Run along.” 

The boy grinned, gap-toothed and dirty, and ran back. He shook his head and went back to find Revas. The hart looked up from his grazing, bleating. Dorian obliged him, rubbing his nose. 

“For such a magnificent beast, you are quite needy.” 

Revas bumped his cheek and Dorian snorted. The creature and Mahanon had more in common than the elf would ever realize. Such as a baffling penchant for mussing his hair. He ducked as Revas attempted it again and started packing up his camp. The only thing he had to say about Ferelden was that it was cold as a Chasind’s tit. It just would not stop snowing. Dorian grabbed Revas’ reins, debating. The hart would attract undue attention in the village, but he was loathe to leave the creature alone. It was clear he needed to see for himself why Felix and Alexius weren’t here yet. He turned to the hart, the creatures brown eyes baleful. Dorian patted his shoulder. 

“Now don’t look at me like that. I’ll be back tonight.” Revas nudged him again and Dorian rolled his eyes, patting him. “Really, you creatures are supposed to be _majestic_. Have some dignity.” 

It was about that time he realized he was talking to a deer. Sighing at the sharp pang of loneliness coursing through him, he forced himself towards the village. 

~~

He was sitting on a log in camp, an hour after dawn, when it started. 

“Fuck you!” 

He glanced up to see what he thought was a Ferelden lady, shouting down a man twice her size. She was pitting herself between a female dwarf and and man that stood a head taller than Mahanon. The man reached for the dwarf again and the lady slapped his hand away. Looking around, he realized he was the only watching the exchange. Everyone else was dutifully ignoring it. Sulahn was back at the icy river near camp, attempting a bath. Mahanon sheathed the dagger he’d been holding when the man raised his hand. He was red in the face, spitting mad at whatever slight the dwarf woman had given. He noted the dwarf was bleeding from her lip, wiping the blood and grinning up at the man, a look of danger he recognize well. The man was an idiot. 

Mahanon got there in time to grab his arm as he let it fly at the lady. The man struggled against him. He was strong, Mahanon gave him that much. 

“Fucking knife-ear! Unhand me! This is none of your business.” 

Mahanon grunted and dug his heels in. “Probably not. But I’m not the one seeking a knife in the back either.” 

The dwarf laughed behind him. “The Dalish is a helluva lot smarter than you, you dung-eating nug humper.” 

The lady screamed and the man bellowed, hitting Mahanon in the gut. He doubled over, gasping. But he had the presence of mind to stick his foot out. Before the man could get his hands on the dwarf’s neck, he tripped. The fall sent him sprawling in the snow. The dwarf barked another laugh as the man scrambled to his feet. He went after Mahanon this time, grabbing him by the shirt and lifting him. Mahanon grinned and rammed his head into the man’s nose. 

He fell but not before the dwarf kicked the man in the balls. She tugged Mahanon to his feet. 

“Run!” 

He didn’t have to be told twice as he saw a group of humans finally heading their way. _Now they take notice._ He and the dwarf ran through the camp. There were enough people to get lost in, and they were able to stop and catch their breath. Mahanon doubled over. He was still adjusting to the elevation, and the blow to the stomach didn’t do him any favors. The dwarf was laughing. 

“I should thank you for coming to my rescue Dalish.” 

Mahanon rolled his eyes. “Who said I did it for you dwarf?” 

She extended her hand and he took it, straightening a bit. “Malika Cadash.” 

“Lavellan.” He shook his head. “Whose nose did I just break?” 

“Some marcher lord. Trevelly or some shite.” 

Mahanon grunted. Malika looked around, before creeping around the tent they’d been hiding behind. 

“I have some whiskey they may make you grow some hair elf, if yer interested.” 

He waved his hand. “You go on. Try not to piss off anymore lords.” 

She laughed heartily and strode off, though not before lifting her coat to reveal a row of daggers. 

“I can handle myself Dalish.” 

She whistled and walked away. He shook his head, charmed despite himself, and went to find Sulahn. 

~~

_Wintersend and dusk of the last day of the festival. Dorian sat on the balcony, watching the sun sink down and Minrathous slowly light itself against the night. Lavellan sighed impatiently behind him. Again. Dorian turned and eyed him._

_“Problem?”_

_Lavellan grunted at him in response. It was about what Dorian had expected from the elf. He turned back to the view. Finally, Lavellan didn’t seem able to bite his tongue anymore._

_“Why are you just staring into the distance? You could do that at your own mansion.”_

_Dorian rolled his eyes. “Because I’m thinking. You should try it some time.”_

_The elf snorted. Dorian was glad he’d stayed away from the proving grounds this year. Lavellan didn’t need anymore of a reason to hate Tevinter, and by extension, him. The elf shifted again._

_“Why here?”_

_Dorian gestured impatiently towards the sunset. “I like the view.”_

_Lavellan tilted his head. “It’s just a sunset. It happens every day.”_

_The elf’s auburn hair caught strands of gold from the sun. His skin was shaded like whiskey in the light. Dorian’s skin was dark, but Lavellan’s spoke of years spent outdoors. It made the green of his eyes and tattoos stand out further, and those same eyes caught the golden flare off the sun. Dorian sighed internally._

_“I happen to like beautiful things.”_

_The elf eyed him warily and Dorian shrugged, turning back to the balcony. The truth of the matter was, he didn’t want to go home. Nor did he feel like going out and finding someone to ease the hours until dawn. There would be plenty of celebrating tonight, but he lacked the will for it. He didn’t expect the elf to care even if he felt the need to explain himself. Lavellan surprised him, leaning on the balcony with him. Dorian looked at him in surprise and the elf just shrugged._

_“I may be a_ savage _but I’m not blind.”_

_Dorian opened his mouth, to argue or apologize he wasn’t sure, but the elf just snorted, holding up his hand._

_“That was a joke.”_

_He smiled at Dorian’s shock. Then he turned his eyes back towards the horizon. Dorian stared for another moment. The act of the smile along with the beauty of it threw him through a loop. Shaking his head he turned back, and they watched the sun disappear together._

Dorian found himself in the tavern. The boy hadn’t been lying. All seemed almost peaceful in Redcliffe Village, but for the mages and other refugees milling everywhere. For the first time since leaving Tevinter, he could almost fit in here. Except he was certain the strained lines of despair were not so evident on his face as the people he encountered. At a loss for what to do, and wondering if he would have had time to go to the conclave with Mahanon after all, he went to the tavern. Much as he wanted to drown himself in drink, he didn’t. Instead he sat in a corner and listened. No better place for it, and no one would suppose he was from the Imperium if he kept his mouth shut and his head down. 

It was much of the same. The peace talks seemed to be making a little progress. No one had been killed yet, which Dorian considered a positive sign. The earl was struggling to help the refugees in his own village, let alone the surrounding countryside. Ferelden was still recovering from the Blight after all. None of it helped him, and the sun was starting to go down. Dorian threw some coin to the owner and decided to head back to Revas. 

He did stop a moment, watching the sunset. Longing for Mahanon nearly brought him to his knees. He turned his head slightly, facing Haven. In time to watch an explosion of green light tear open the sky. 

~~

He and Sulahn ate lunch together. They were avoiding the Temple for a bit. Or that was his intention. Malika came staggering up to them, a qunari in tow. Sulahn stiffened but Malika hust grasped Mahanon’s hand, smelling of wine. 

“Lavellan! This is my friend, Kaaras. He wanted to thank you fer helping me.” 

Sulahn raised his eyebrows as the qunari held out his hand. Mahanon took it awkwardly. The qunari was gigantic, but his eyes were kind enough. He gestured to Sulahn. 

“This is my friend Sulahn. We’re both from Clan Lavellan.” 

Malika raked her eyes over Sulahn, before joining him and grabbing some food for the pot. Kaaras sighed. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Mahanon snorted. “Don’t be. I’ve been aching for something fun to do.” 

Kaaras chuckled and Mahanon sat back down, making him a bowl of stew. Malika was looking at the other elves across the way, not bothering to hide the fact she was staring. He cleared his throat, turning to Kaaras.

“What brings the two of you here?” 

Kaaras shrugged. “I’m Tal-Vashoth. My boss wants fair warning if the humans are going to get worse.” 

“Same.” Malika swallowed her food. “Kaaras and I go back a ways.” 

Sulahn looked as if he was about to say something, but stiffened instead. Mahanon followed his gaze and found the idiot from the morning, joined with a cleric and some soldiers, headed towards their camp. He groaned when the man pointed at him. Kaaras made to rise and Mahanon waved him off. 

“I’ll handle it.” 

“Not alone you won’t.” Malika growled. 

Mahanon waved her off. “Just sit.” 

Sulahn grabbed his arm. “Mahanon.” 

“It’s alright.” He gave Sulahn a half-grin. “Just wait here. I’ll behave.” 

The second he stepped towards the humans two of the soldiers grabbed him. The cleric stood imperiously over him. 

“Are you the elf who assaulted Lord Trevaylen this morning?” 

Mahanon snorted. “I wouldn’t have had to if he wasn’t such a moron.” 

The cleric, who suddenly looked very put out, sighed. “I’ll have to ask you to come with us then.’ 

“What for? It’s him I tell you! And that little bitch-” 

The cleric shot him a warning look. “I would highly suggest you hold your tongue my lord. It doesn’t escape me that you claim an elf successfully assaulted such a great warrior as yourself without cause. Until we get to the bottom of the matter, your anger helps you little.” 

Mahanon huffed out a laugh and shook his arms out of the soldier’s grasps. He held them up when they went for their swords. 

“Relax. I’ll come willingly. Trust me, you’ll want to hear this.” 

One of their mouth’s quirked. The lord opened his mouth but snapped it shut at another dirty look from the cleric. Mahanon walked with them through the camp, and up to the temple. Once there one of the soldiers relieved him of his daggers, shaking his head. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Mahanon shrugged. The cleric had separated him and Trevaylen. He was surprised they had taken him all the way inside, not far from the more important meetings and dignitaries. The cleric sighed. 

“I do apologize about this. I’ve been charged with keeping the peace, and Lord Trevalyen is a loud man.” 

Mahanon laughed. “I noticed.” 

“So what did happen?” 

Mahanon recounted the story, having no trouble answering honestly. He watched the cleric’s face drain slowly of color, before he clenched his jaw. 

“That…oh Maker’s breath. That complete and utter-” He rubbed his temples. “Captain please let this man go. Next time just call the soldiers.” 

He laughed again and got to his feet. It should have bothered him more, but it was the most exciting thing that had happened since they’d arrived. He was in a fairly good mood as he stepped into the dying light. He’d even managed to keep Dorian off his mind for a moment. He spotted Sulahn, Kaaras, and Malika waiting for him at the entrance. Before he stepped into the light, something caught his attention behind him. A glimmer of metal. Curious, he turned around. The talks for the day would end at any moment. It could be nothing. Then he heard a scream, followed by a deep voice that reverberated down his spine.  

“Someone help me!” 

Without thinking, he ran. He didn’t stop to look for a soldier, just followed the voice. As he got closer, he could hear the cry for help more strongly. He ran through the dark stone tunnels, bursting through the doors. What he found was amongst the strangest and most horrific sights he’d ever seen. The Divine, hovering above the ground, suspended by Grey Wardens and some red light. A monster before her. 

“What’s going on here?” 

The Divine looked to him, and then to the monster. She knocked the orb he was using on her out of his hand. It clattered and rolled to Mahanon, and he knew one thing. He couldn’t let the monster have it back. So he reached for it. The second he touched it, all he saw was green as fire lanced up his arm, making him cry out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've got some good news and some bad news. Good news is I'm planning a part 4. Bad news is I may need a bit of a hiatus for a bit some stuff came up. But I'll try to finish chapter 27 before that happens.


	27. The Hottest Places in Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BACK YO!

 

 _“I agree with Dante, that the hottest places in hell are reserved for those who, in a period of moral crisis, maintain their neutrality”_ - Martin Luther King Jr.

 

 

He stumbled forward. He heard voices, and knew they weren’t demons. He needed to get to them. It was hard. Even breathing was a struggle. He was so afraid, of things he had no name for. His mouth was filled with the sour taste of it, his heart hammering in his chest. His hand burned. He couldn’t go on. He fell. 

~~

“Dead! Everyone at the Conclave! Dead!” 

That was how he had heard. _Dead_. Mahanon was dead. Dorian made his way to his camp, relying too heavily on his staff. He was lurching unsteadily, heart hammering and stomach sour with grief. He barely noticed the demons he felled. They held no interest for him. He stumbled forward, finding Revas in the chaos. The beast was being attacked by demons. There was a tear in the air, matching the color of the sky. Enraged he killed them all, but there was nothing he could do about the rift. Spurred to protect the dear at all costs, he grabbed its reigns and hopped into the saddle. He urged Revas to safety, not knowing where that could be. 

They were alone in the world now. 

~~

Cassandra walked among the petrified bodies, frozen forever in their terror. She was shaking with rage. She would kill the elf for what he’d done. She clenched her fists, and it was Leliana who reached out a hand to calm her. 

“Cassandra…” 

Cassandra shrugged the other woman’s hand off. Leliana had no more to say. What _was_ there to say? They were looking at the face of evil. There was no other name for it, and now no Divine to help them stand against it. She was filled with rage, but there was more to it. Cassandra was afraid. She did not know how to fight this threat. She looked up at the Breach, grappling with that fear. Leliana tugged at her and Cassandra followed her down the mountain. There were things she could do. Killing demons was one. 

Then a messenger came, bending over to catch his breath as he panted. “He’s awake…the prisoner.” 

That was all Cassandra needed to hear. She strode towards the dungeons, ignoring Leliana’s pleas for her to slow down. She stormed through the door, finding the elf bound. 

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now. The conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.” 

He only glared at her. Feral. She hadn’t expected anything else, but she still wanted to throttle him. She grabbed him, gesturing to the mark.

“Explain, this.” 

That was when he broke. “I…can’t. I don’t know what that is. Or how it got there.” 

She had no pity for him. She grabbed him again. 

“You’re lying!” 

Leliana pushed her back. “We need him Cassandra.” 

She let the woman, staring down the elf. He set his jaw. 

“What happens now?” 

Leliana turned to him. “Do you remember how this happened? How this began?” 

He shook his head. “I remember running. Things were chasing me. And then…a woman?” 

“A woman?” 

“She reached out to me, but then…” He sighed in frustration. 

That almost sounded sincere. “Go to the forward camp Leliana. I will take him to the rift.” 

Leliana was right. They needed the elf, for now. She went to unbind his manacles, though she decided to leave the rope on. She didn’t trust him not to strangle her. He tilted his head. 

“What _did_ happen?” 

She helped him rise. “It will be easier to show you.” 

She took him outside. He froze, staring at the sky. His face remained impassive, but his eyes widened. She explained. 

“We call it the Breach. It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the conclave.” 

He seemed to let his next words slip out, unbidden. “An explosion can _do_ that?” 

“This one did. Unless we act now, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.” 

The Breach punctuated her words for her, bringing the elf to his knees with a cry of pain. She decided if she was going to convince him to do the right thing, it had to be now. 

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads. And it _is_ killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but their isn’t much time.” 

He pinned her with those emerald eyes, the gaze intense. Then he nodded. 

“I understand.”

She couldn’t believe it. “Then?” 

He bit his lip. “I’ll do what I can. Whatever it takes.” 

Hope surged into Cassandra’s chest. For the first time in three days, she had something to throw herself behind. She helped him back to his feet. Maker help her, their only hope was an elf. She cut his bonds, noting the way he flinched away when she touched him. He straightened, rubbing his wrists as he looked up at the Breach, expression fierce. 

~~

He didn’t hear them coming until it was too late. The mage bane was in his mouth before he could so much as think a spell. They held him down and forced it down his throat. Dorian choked on it, but a blade appeared at his throat, making him swallow it down. With that he was tied up, a hood dragged over his head. He heard Revas bleating somewhere behind him. His heart was heavy with regret for the beast. As to what was happening to him, he was having trouble finding it in him to care. The worst that could be done to him had already been done. This new threat was a mere inconvenience. 

They rode for what felt like an age, Dorian being jostled and jangled along on the back of the horse like so much luggage. They carried him inside, forcing him to his knees. The hood was ripped off, revealing a throne room. And on it, was Alexius. Dorian opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Alexius frowned at Dorian’s bound hands, waving away the guards. 

“What is this? Dorian is my guest!” 

Alexius stepped off the throne, cutting Dorian’s bonds. Then he braced Dorian’s shoulders, looking him over. 

“Are you hale? Did they harm you?” 

Dorian rubbed at his wrists, looking around instead of answering. Alexius released him, smiling and waving his hand around. 

“Ah, yes. The dog lords are not given much to finery. But this place will do for our plans.” 

That caught Dorian’s attention. “‘Our’ plans? Alexius what are you doing here? With what I'm assuming are the Venatori?” 

Alexius sat back on the throne, folding his hands and peering at Dorian intently. Once more, he was taking on the role of master and Dorian of the student. Only there was more to this. It was almost subtle, but there was an undercurrent of manic energy running through Alexius. The men who’d captured him were still present, hands behind their backs as they hid behind their helmets. Numb as he was, that unnerved him. This, whatever it was, was all wrong. 

“Where’s Felix?” 

Alexius smiled. “He is here. Sleeping. Dorian I found a way to save him. A way to accomplish everything we set out to do. The Elder One has shown me the way.” 

Dorian raised his eyebrows. “The Elder One?” 

“Yes my boy. Here to recapture the glory of Old Tevinter. He helped me make the amulet work. He has the power to save Felix, to save us all. I’ve seen it.” 

“The amulet.” Dorian looked to the strangers in their creepy helmets. “That is how you got here.” 

“Yes.” Alexius waved his arms. “And you, you can join us. Regain your honor.” 

That made Dorian take a step back. Cold anger filled him. Honor. Right. What did any Tevinter man know of honor? His was dead somewhere in the mountains. 

“Alexius, when you say the power…” 

Alexius nodded, seeing Dorian coming to the right conclusion. “The Breach. This Elder One's doing.” 

He snapped the last words. Dorian clenched his fists, wishing he could call on his magic. He was strongly considering lighting Alexius on fire. He must have shown his hand, Alexius’ guards taking a step towards them. Dorian took a step back. 

“The answer is no.” 

The wrong words. The men grabbed his arms, one putting his dagger to Dorian’s chin. They were noiseless behind their masks, reacting like automatons. Alexius just looked mildly disappointed. 

“I will give you time to reconsider. Take him to his room. Keep giving him the mage bane.” 

They dragged Dorian off. He didn’t struggle, knowing it was useless. It was all useless. Mahanon would fight. He would fight until dead, and then keep trying anyways. For all the good it had done him in the end. They brought Dorian to a room, locking him in. It was nicer than anything he’d seen in months. The cold rage he’d felt in the hall didn’t leave him, threatening to break through the haze he’d been in since the sky and ripped open. The room had been redecorated for him, he could see. Dragon idols and manuscripts, suggesting Alexius had been planning for him to say no. 

That made him lose it. He grabbed the closest idol and threw it against the wall, shattering it. Again and again he grabbed whatever he could, destroying whatever he found. At least, until his hand found the bookcase. He grabbed one of the books, intending to rip it apart, and then stopped. This anger wasn’t him. This desolation. Dorian put the book back and straightened his robes. He reached up and tidied his hair, having thrown a dragon at the only mirror, shattering it. That way, he was ready when his door opened, revealing Felix. Felix leaned against the door casually, holding a tray of what looked like treats from the kitchen. 

Dorian was shocked into saying the one thing that came to mind. “Don’t get into trouble on my account.” 

Felix winked, walking into the room and setting the tray down. “I like trouble.” 

Dorian found himself crossing the room, pulling Felix into a gruff hug. The man returned his embrace, hugging Dorian tightly. 

“I am glad to see you, though I wish the circumstances were less insane.” 

Dorian swallowed, not realizing how desperate he’d been for a friendly face. He released Felix, shaking his head. 

“You know, when you said to come here, you failed to mention your father had lost his mind and joined a cult.” 

“You don’t know the half of it.” Felix glanced behind his shoulder. “I have to go. Eat, I’ll be back for you.” 

With that he left, leaving Dorian locked back up again. He was alone again, and astoundingly hungry. 

~~

_He was running. Had to run. His life depended on it. A woman ran next to him, stumbling in her old age. He grabbed her arm, pulling her along with him. Behind them was a sea of spiders. Their chattering nipped at his ears, speaking things meant to be forgotten. A deeper voice preyed on him, egging him. It wanted him to fall, wanted him to fail. His turn to stumble. Fear burned through his chest, threatening to stifle his very breath. The woman pulled him up again. The Divine. Her strength was his, and he was able to run on. They started climbing up the only escape they had. He sent her first. A green rift lay at the top. Their way out. Mahanon thought he saw a glimmer in it. Dorian, a blade to his throat. It was the metal of the dagger catching the light, shining through. The Divine pulled him up, and then slowed._

_“Keep running!”_

_He reached the rift, clearly seeing Dorian, eyes dead as the dagger pressed in. Mahanon realized the Divine wasn’t behind him and turned around, seeing she’d been taken by the spiders. To save him. He reached for her but she shouted her dissent._

_“Go!”_

_So he turned to the Breach, now empty of Dorian. And he ran._

Mahanon woke with a gasp. As was becoming the norm, he couldn’t remember what he’d been dreaming about. Could only feel his heart pounding in his ears, begging him to run. Instead, he stared at the stars above him, taking deep breaths. Solas was on watch. He glanced at Mahanon, eyes sympathetic. That was disconcerting. The expectation was that he trust these people, going against his instincts. Particularly where Solas was concerned. There was something about the elf, something that drew Mahanon in. He rebelled against the feeling, holding his new companions at arm’s length. He was going to close the Breach and find Dorian, no more no less. 

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. The sky was starting to lighten, meaning they’d make the push to Master Dennet’s. Mahanon fought the urge to run to Redcliffe. He thought Cassandra might actually kill him if he tried. His hand gave a sharp twinge, reminding him why he hadn’t so far. Solas murmured quietly. 

“You keeping looking North.” 

Mahanon grunted. Sulahn’s ghost was in his ear, reminding him of his duty. He had to close the Breach. But Dorian could be in danger, could need him. And after seeing so much death, Mahanon needed to know the man was alive, needed to hold him again. Just plain needed him. The pain of it made him clench his left hand tightly, knuckles white. Solas didn’t turn his gaze, curiosity plain on his face. He’d seen Mahanon’s back, and seemed to guess at his past. The man was far too astute. 

“I mean you no harm Da’len. In all honesty, I wish us to be amicable. You can tell me what troubles you so. Perhaps I can help.” 

Mahanon sighed, getting to his feet. “I didn’t come to Ferelden alone. I lost a dear friend to the Breach. Now, ma vhenan is at Redcliffe. He probably doesn’t know I’m alive and we’re traipsing through the forest chasing a horse master.” 

He didn’t mean for his temper to rise. He was losing more and more of his control as the days wore on, lashing out. Cassandra and Varric stirred and Solas just kept up his quiet gaze. Mahanon clenched his jaw. Solas rose to his feet, making as if to touch Mahanon’s shoulder before thinking better of it and letting his hand fall to his side. Mahanon didn’t wait for him to answer, just headed to the river. Anger was his again, raw and powerful. He’d been wounded, badly. Mythal help whoever stood in-between him and the Breach.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. We're back baby. Also once again, Dorian I am so, so sorry. Funny story about my beta and mage bane that she probably doesn't want me to tell again but if you read Wrong Side of Heaven and wondered why I didn't use mage bane it's because I forgot it was a thing(somehow) and a certain someone noticed it but just thought I was being creative. I guess kudos to her for giving me far more credit for my imagination than I actually have. Y'all are amazing, really. I did delete my update page but I kept screenshots of the comments because you guys were so sweet and understanding. Hopefully I don't let you down. Also all the thanks to my TheFaye92 for not only putting up with my shit but also helping me through an extremely bumpy time in my life. You should read her new story Hawke Hunt cause it's awesome. Mahanon even makes a cameo. Anyways I love you readers and promise no more gigantic hiatuses. Let's aim for once a week, shall we?


	28. Baying For Blood

_Sheltered, you better keep the wolf back from the door_

_He wanders ever closer every night_

_And how he waits, baying for blood_

_I promised you everything would be fine_

 

_Been wondering for days_

_How you felt me slip your mind_

_Leave behind your wanting waves_

_I want to learn to love in kind_

_'Cause You were all I ever longed for_

 

_Hold my gaze love, you know I want to let it go_

_We will stare down at the wonder of it all_

_And I-I will hold you in it and I-I will hold you in it_

 

_Been wondering for days_

_How you felt me slip your mind_

_Leave behind your wanting waves_

_I want to look you in the eye_

_'Cause You were all I ever longed for- “_ The Wolf,”Mumford and Sons

 

Mahanon found himself suffering through yet another night, waking at dawn. Thrumming with energy, and not wanting to think about the mark, he climbed out of bed. He needed to hunt. Haven offered plenty of space to do that at least. He dressed and stepped outside, the clanging from the forge and the Inquisition’s troops already ringing through the sunrise. He crept past them, avoiding anyone he saw. He felt constantly off-balance, like he was walking the razor’s edge of his sanity. Sulahn was a near-constant thought, pushing him towards the edge. His marked hand twitched with pain and he ignored it, gripping his bow all the more tightly. Between the pain in his hand and his own wracked nerves he spooked the ram he’d been stalking through the snow. 

He gave up trying to chase it the third time he sank hip-deep into snow, scrambling out and shivering. Mahanon almost jumped out of his skin when a bolt whizzed past his head, hitting the ram in the eye. He turned to find Varric, following Mahanon’s path through the snow. Snorting, and willing his heart to slow down, he kept pushing to the struggling ram. He bent, slitting its throat in one smooth motion as Varric closed the distance between them. 

“It is way to cold for this shit.” 

Mahanon pulled out Varric’s bolt, handing it to him without a word. Varric had yet to be anything but amicable, but Mahanon wasn’t looking for amicable. Everything hurt to much. He couldn’t shut out the pain long enough for small talk. Mahanon turned back to the ram, fingers going numb in the cold. Varric didn’t take the hint though. 

“Chuckles asked me to look into something for you, said you’re looking for someone.” 

Mahanon grunted. Varric pulled out a piece of paper from his coat. 

“It wouldn’t happen to be a Tevinter named Dorian Pavus would it?” Mahanon froze, giving himself away. “That’s what I thought. My pal and Redcliffe says he’s there. Been seen around town. If you want, I can get a letter sent.” 

Varric smiled, but his eyes were sharp. He too, had seen some of Mahanon’s many scars, though Mahanon stoutly refused to let anyone see his back. Mahanon was wary, knowing how easily Leliana could find out what Varric had. That the elven Herald of Andraste was looking for a Tevinter mage. Varric seemed to sense his hesitation. 

“Don’t worry, I’m good at secrets. Though-“ Varric shook his head. “Nah. Forget it. Give me whatever you want to send.” 

Mahanon stared at him, then cleared his throat. “You’re helping me?” 

Varric snorted. “Least I could do for the hero of this adventure.” 

“I’m not exactly a hero Varric.” 

“That remains to be seen. Come on, Bianca’s getting cold.” 

Mahanon grinned. His first real smile since waking after the conclave. Varric just walked on. Mahanon bent and picked up the ram, following. As they arrived back at the chantry, angry voices met their ears. Mahanon could pick out Cullen and Roderick, nose to nose. Varric groaned and Mahanon sighed, tossing the ram at Threnn’s feet before pushing his way through the crowd. It never ended with these people. 

~~

Solas found himself watching Mahanon. At first glance, he seemed the typical Dalish. Suspicious of strangers, wearing his vallaslin with no shame, no clue as to their true meeting. He was brash in battle, highly skilled but showing no caution. A young hunter trying to prove himself. _And yet…_ Solas heard the young elf waking in the middle of the night, gasping for air. Saw him stare off into the distance, longing clear on his face. And he saw the scars. Some where obvious, normal for a man of Mahanon’s make. But the others. Solas had seen that type of scar all too often, in the Fade and out. Mahanon had been whipped to within an inch of his life, recently. Solas had studied not just the mark while the elf slept, but the scars. There was a viciousness to them; they were placed on his back erratically as to suggest they were done in anger. It had been personal. 

 Solas suspected slavery. He had no choice but to, and it angered him. He even debated alerting Cassandra to the fact that not all was well with her Herald. Instead, he watched. Watched, and waited. Should it come down to it, _he_ would protect Mahanon, if that was what it would take to get his orb back from Corypheus. He owed that much to his own conscience. 

~~

Dorian was wide-awake, staring at his ceiling, trying and failing not to think about how thirsty he was. He was still being fed mage bane. He resisted, but Alexius was having it slipped into his water. He wouldn’t be allowed to drink for days at a time, until he was half-mad with it. In desperation he would drink, dosing himself again for the next few days. Felix tried to help, but Dorian refused to let him. If he got caught, any chance Dorian had of escaping would vanish. This was Dorian’s own battle. One he was starting to lose. He could escape, but for what? He didn’t have the power to fight the Venatori on his own. Even if he did, he was no longer sure he wanted to survive in a world without Mahanon in it. 

_Mahanon._ The elf had become Dorian’s strength, his protector as well as his lover. Before the elf, he might have been able to do this. Fight for what was right. Without him, Dorian felt as a shell. Right and wrong were bleeding together into a mass of gray. None of it mattered when the bright spot in his life had been extinguished. It was getting harder and harder for Dorian to banish the elf’s name from his mind, and the pain was the only thing managing to break through the haze. It _hurt_. He wasn’t sure he could survive it if he wanted to. 

The door opened, a sliver of light cutting through the blackness of the room. Dorian sat up, seeing an elf bearing a pitcher of wine and a single lit candle. Dorian swallowed at the wine, his throat burning. He barely noticed the elf, eyes focused as they were on the wine. He shook himself, glancing at the elf and gasping. Hope flared brightly in his chest, only to be crushed brutally a moment later. In the candlelight, the elf almost looked like Mahanon. The vallaslin was wrong though, and this man cast his eyes downward as he spoke. 

“Master Alexius asked me to keep you company tonight. He says the wine and myself are a gift.” 

Dorian stared at the elf blankly. He kept his head bowed, hand trembling on the candle. Suddenly angry at the meekness of the elf, Dorian rose, grabbing the wine from him angrily and chugging it. He pretended not to notice the elf flinch. He drank too much to fast, stomach aching at it’s sudden fullness. Dorian ran to the privy, vomiting. Eyes filling with tears, he slid to the floor, burying his head in his hands. _Maker, just take me now. I can’t do this anymore._ The tears leaked out in earnest then. A cool hand rested on his shoulder. 

“Master?” 

Dorian didn’t look up. “Leave me. Please.” 

The elf withdrew his hand. After a long while Dorian settled. He glanced up to find the elf had never left, only sat on the bed, staring at folded hands. Rage and regret were his again. This time, directed at Alexius. In a short time, his mentor had become the very thing that had driven Dorian to rescue Mahanon. The reason he had fought. It was going to be the most difficult thing he’d ever done, but he was going to have to pick himself up off of the floor and move on from Mahanon. At least, until he’d stopped Alexius. Dorian rose, wiping his eyes. The elf looked up for a brief second before bowing his head again. Dorian sighed, grabbing the wine and using it to rinse his mouth out. Then he offered some to the elf. 

“What is your name?” 

The elf didn’t look up, or take the wine as he answered. “Yevel.” 

“Yevel. Well I’ve heard worse names. You are Dalish are you not?” 

Yevel nodded. Dorian sat down on the stool by his little table. Yevel remained on the bed, clearly waiting for Dorian to have his way with him. Dorian’s stomach churned again. 

“Can I let you in on a secret Yevel? I am madly in love with a Dalish man from Clan Lavellan. Because of him, I’m going to stop your master. You’ll be able to go home.” 

_That_ got Yevel to look up at him. With sheer disbelief. Dorian cracked a smile, and drank more wine. He knew the elf was trying to figure out if he was mad or not. Dorian wished he knew the answer to that himself. This time, when he passed the jug to Yevel, he took it, taking a cautious sip. Then he eyed Dorian. 

“If I leave too early, I’ll be punished. You should…” 

The elf’s courage failed him. Dorian took the jug back. He was going to need a lot more wine to get through tonight. 

“I am not quite generous to give you the whole bed to yourself, but you’re welcome to sleep here. I plan to stay up late getting far too drunk to be of much use to anyone.” 

Yevel gaped at him again, and then smiled cautiously. Tentatively, he rose and slipped under the covers. He curled onto his side, watching Dorian. Waiting for him to go back on what he’d said. Instead, Dorian blew out the candle, reaching into his pocket for his seashell. He palmed it, staring at it as he sipped more wine. He kept his back to Yevel as the tears started to fall again. 

~~

At long last, they were on the road to Redcliffe. It was in no way an objective decision, to meet with the mages before the Templars. Mahanon could only hope it was the right one. The road was relatively quiet for the Hinterlands, his new horse walking along steadily. Mahanon was trying not to ride to far ahead of the others, afraid they’d sense his eagerness. This time, he’d taken the Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Solas. His letter to had gone unanswered, and Mahanon was trying not to speculate on the reason why. He’d slowed the horse to a walk to wait for the others, but his imagination was starting to run wild. The road was quiet. He glanced around. The birds had stopped chirping. The hairs prickled on the back of his neck, and Mahanon reached for his daggers. He’d just about pulled one loose when a great white blur crashed through the trees. The damn horse whinnied and bucked, throwing Mahanon. He crashed into the ground as the horse thundered off in the direction they’d come from. Dazed, Mahanon groaned, sitting up. 

Revas met his eyes. The hart bleated softly and then walked forward, bending his head to nuzzle Mahanon’s chest. Mahanon reached up and touched his nose, running his hand up and down. The hart was thin, a half-healed cut running across his chest, but otherwise okay. His saddle was missing. Mahanon stood, keeping a hand on Revas’ shoulder. It was clear the hart had been on his own for weeks. Which meant something had happened to Dorian. Fear gripped him, and he buried his nose in the hart’s fur. The creature bleated softly, looking over Mahanon. He heard the sound of hooves and turned to find Cassandra, leading his horse. Her eyes widened in surprise. Bull and Solas appeared a moment later, both as surprised as Cassandra. Mahanon rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Found an old friend. Spooked the nag.” 

Iron Bull laughed. Solas slid off his own horse, walking silently towards Mahanon and Revas. The hart went to Solas willingly. Solas slid his hand up the hart’s snout, shaking his head. 

“You are full of surprises lethallin.” 

Mahanon tried to swallow the fear rising in his chest like bile. It wouldn’t do to break now. They were almost there. 

“Let’s get a move on boss. There’s a tavern waiting for us.” 

Cassandra made a disgusted noise, without ever taking her eyes off Mahanon. Mindful of Revas’ wound, Mahanon got back on his horse. The animal had the decency to look ashamed at least, snuffing Mahanon’s hair before he climbed into the saddle. Mahanon patted it’s neck and they rode on, Revas falling into step next to him. He decided to name the horse Buck. When at long last Redcliffe came into view, Mahanon’s hand split open in response to the rift. He leapt off Buck, slapping his flank so that he and Revas ran off into the trees, safe from the demons. Then he thrust his hand out, this time able to trust his companions to keep the demons on him as he disrupted it. But then something went wrong, the demons disappearing and then reappearing. The force from the rift keeping him trapped until the mark did its work on it. Which allowed a terror demon to warp around Cassandra, going straight for Mahanon. It raised it’s claws, spindly limbs making it three times Mahanon’s height. It slashed him across the chest, throwing him aside easily. Mahanon gasped at the burning across his flesh, but forced himself to his feet, drawing his daggers. 

Just as the demon came at him again, Bull’s axe cleaved it in two, letting Mahanon at the hunger demon behind him. He leapt, one dagger in its right eye, the other in the left. It screamed and dissolved. Solas called out to him. 

“Now!” 

Mahanon flung out his hand again. This time, it worked. The rift closed, and he was left gasping with pain. Blood poured down his chest, but he waved Solas off when he tried to get at him. 

“What _was_ that?” 

Cassandra shook her head. “The rift…it warped time.” 

Solas frowned. “Something is wrong here.” 

Mahanon straightened, needing to get inside the town. _Dorian what is happening? Where are you?_ Solas grabbed his shoulder firmly, waving his hand over Mahanon’s chest. The wound healed, leaving a hole in his shirt. The blood remained behind in his shirt and over his coat. Solas released him without a word. It was a quick ride to the tavern where they were meeting the mages. Mahanon shivered as they entered the tavern, nauseous with anticipation. The mages stared at their little group as one, emotionless. Reminding Mahanon wolves waiting for their turn of the kill. His fear replaced by rage as he saw the haggard face of Alexius. Fiona and Felix were right behind him, Felix freezing. The Magister’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“You? _You_ are the Herald of Andraste?” 

Mahanon growled, tempted to reach for his daggers. “Yes.” 

Alexius turned his back on him. “I will have no dealings with a slave." 

Mahanon lost it then, hands going to his daggers. “Where is he?” 

Bull tried to hold him back. Cassandra and Solas readied their weapons. The mages around them did the same. Mahanon only had eyes for Alexius, who froze. 

“What did you do to him? _Where is he?!_ ” 

Bull released him, his own hand going to his axe. Mahanon charged Alexius, anger blinding him to all danger. Power charged he air, another growl ripping out of his throat. Alexius whirled, raising his staff in one motion. Felix cried out, grabbing his father’s arm, but it was too late. There was a flash of green, and then nothing.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...there may be something wrong with me. Anyways this is the end of part 3. Part 4 is next and it'll probably be the last in this story. The good news is there's still quite a bit to go. Also I'm not officially allowed to say anything yet buuuut let's just say this won't be the last au you guys will see from me. Hopefully. Thanks again to my beta TheFaye92, though she didn't go over this chapter cause she's dealt with me enough this week. Have a good weekend readers.


	29. Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part IV

_Do not stand at my grave and weep_

_I am not there. I do not sleep._

_I am a thousand winds that blow._

_I am the diamond glints on snow._

_I am the sunlight on ripened grain._

_I am the gentle autumn rain._

_When you awaken in the morning's hush_

_I am the swift uplifting rush_

_Of quiet birds in circled flight._

_I am the soft stars that shine at night._

_Do not stand at my grave and cry;_

_I am not there. I did not die. -_ “Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep.” -Mary Elizabeth Fyre

 

Dorian woke once more to his door being flung open. Only this time, it was Felix, face downright haggard. He leaned heavily on the doorframe, panting. 

“Dorian-Maker it’s my fault. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was _him_.” 

Dorian sat up, not understanding. Felix glanced behind him, and it was only then Dorian noticed the crumpled masses of armor in the frame, and Felix’s death-grip on his staff. 

“Felix, what are you on about?” 

Felix pressed the staff into Dorian’s hand, and then pulled something out of his robes. He was still twitching, looking behind him. He pressed the object into Dorian’s hand. 

“Mahanon is alive. My father used this to banish him. You have to find him. Hurry, before they find out it’s gone.” 

Dorian’s head spun. He focused on what was solid; the amulet. It sat in his hand, heavy with the weight of Felix’s words. Felix turned, wrapping Dorian’s hand around the amulet. 

“Dorian. You have to _go_.” 

That was when Dorian heard the noise outside. Something scraped against the stone floors, . He wasn’t even sure if it could work. He started murmuring the spell, seeing Felix go to block the door. The amulet lifted in his hand, flashing green. Then he heard the growling. A fear demon had climbed the stairs, followed by a blonde woman Dorian didn’t recognize. He watched in horror as she waved her hand. The spell was working, he would slip away any moment. But not before he watched the terror demon cut Felix down, tearing open his throat as if the man was made of no more than tissue paper. Dorian kept up the spell. If he quit now, he would never save Felix. 

_Mahanon. Focus on Mahanon._ He closed his eyes as the demon entered the room. Power surged over his skin, and he was gone. And _wet_. Dorian opened his eyes to find himself standing in a river. That was about all he recognized. He looked around wildly. The patches of sky through the trees were a sickly mix of green and black. He was in some kind of wood. The trees were eerie, leafless and black. Something out of a nightmare. Dorian felt a shiver run down his spine. He had no idea where he was. _Or when_. He stepped out of the water, into the thick forest. He shivered, green mist hovering around him. He forced himself not to think about Felix, or the implications of what he had seen. 

Mahanon was alive, and Dorian needed to find him. If he could figure out where _he_ was first. It wasn’t terribly long, or so Dorian assumed, before he nearly tripped on something that wasn’t a tree branch. He looked down, finding solid stone. Dorian followed the line of it with his eyes, tracing it through the trees. Following it, it lead him to another one. The going was slow, the line breaking in places. But Dorian realized before long he was looking at a stone foundations. _Perhaps the only bits left of Redcliffe Castle._ The thought made Dorian queasy. He looked up a the sky, and realized with a rush he’d gone forward in time. Far enough forward, the Breach had swallowed the world. 

Dorian began to shake, violently. Mahanon couldn’t be _here_ , could he? Before he could think on it further, there was a soft _crunch_ behind him. Dorian whirled, only to be met with a gigantic white wolf. Its red eyes _gleamed_ , salvia dripping off its overly large teeth. For a moment, Dorian and the wolf stared at each other, Dorian frozen in terror. Than the wolf growled and Dorian reacted on instinct, casting a wall of fire in between them before he turned and ran. 

~~

Cassandra didn’t have time for disbelief. One minute Mahanon was there, the next he was not. She set shock aside and dispelled the room. Solas cast a barrier over her and she launched herself at the Magister. It was a futile effort. They were vastly outnumbered. They’d walked straight into a trap, and she’d allowed it to happen. Her and Bull fought all the same. But they still wound up in the dungeons with Solas. Cassandra lost sight of the two of them, isolated and alone in her cell. She did what came naturally to her in times of despair, kneeling in prayer. She was angry. Oh so angry. 

The Maker had let it come to this. Andraste had sent her Herald, only to be let him be snatched away before they’d even gotten started. Anger was Cassandra’s, and then, slowly, nothing. They were fed by men in metal masks, the only break in the monotony. At one point, the red lyrium was planted in her cell. Even with nothing left, Cassandra avoided it. The incessant humming was nearly impossible for even her to block out. 

The days slipped by, turning into weeks. The red lyrium hummed and grew, marking the time. 

~~

The fire didn’t work for long. Dorian ran, tripping and stumbling through the accursed forest. But it got worse. The forest shifted around him, filling with images that called out to him. It felt like the Fade, but wrong. Oh so wrong. He saw Mahanon, forced to his knees, his nose broken in a powerful strike. Felix appeared in front of him, holding his entrails in, reaching out for Dorian. Dorian ran through him, and he disappeared. Panting, he threw more fire behind him, desperate. Desperate, and having nowhere to go. He tripped again, sprawling into muck. His ankle was gone, twisted. Dorian struggled as he heard the soft growling behind him. He rolled over, throwing more fire at the beast until he physically couldn’t. It stalked over anyways, entirely unperturbed. _And why would it be?_ As it approached, Dorian closed his eyes. He’d failed. He could feel the creature’s breath on his face, hear it sniffing him. Dorian’s heart hammered like the trapped little rabbit he was. Then, through his rising panic, a voice in his head decided it was high-time to speak. _Get off your arse you spoiled prick._ Dorian opened his eyes. 

He had no more mana to call on. So he did the simple thing, and whacked the wolf in the nose with his staff. It gave the wolf enough pause to where he was able to scrambled to his feet. Then the wolf, easily as big as a great bear, grabbed his staff with his maw and snapped it in two. It simply ignored the burst of energy that poured out. Dorian was ready to give up again after that, but two things happened in quick succession. A blue light appeared between Dorian and the wolf. Another, was an arrow, whizzing by Dorian’s head, through the light, and into the wolf’s glowing eyes. It roared, and charged. A second arrow hit it, in its other eye. The blue light covered Dorian, warming him. He felt oddly protected by it. Then he realized, the pain in his ankle was gone. 

“What are you waiting for? _Run_!” 

That voice. Dorian barely dared to hope. He turned and ran, the blue light floating towards the wolf. He didn’t see what happened, only ran blindly to his rescuer. The cloaked figure fell into step next to him, occasionally turning to fire another arrow. After what felt like an age, his rescuer stopped. 

“Catch your breath. We’re almost there.” 

Dorian placed his hands on his knees, gasping for air. He was dizzy, everything catching up to him at once. He found himself suddenly on the ground, heart refusing to slow down. He thought he felt calloused hands grip his face, and a voice calling to him. Then, everything went black. 

~~

The red lyrium grew into her. It was inevitable. She didn’t know much time passed before it and her were one. Despair was Cassandra’s. The Inquisition had never really had a chance, it seemed. There came a day, months or years later, when she realized she was dying. The Venatori had stopped bringing food. Not long after that, the demons came. At first, it was only one. Cassandra had lost the strength to sit up, her mouth and throat glued shut in her thirst. The thirst had replaced everything else. Even the despair. She was too weak. The demon sensed that, meandering over to the bars of her prison. More came and gripped the bars, staring at her. A rage demon started melting the bars. Cassandra closed her eyes. Then she heard a growl. A struggle ensued. Cassandra was barely coherent enough to follow. The demons were being decimated by a white wolf. It slaughtered the demons, then turned its glowing red eyes on her. 

It shook its head then, almost like it was mad. Fighting itself. Then it stalked over, shoving its head through the hole in the bars. Cassandra summoned the last of her strength, and cried out. A pillar of light filled the room. It dissipated, doing no harm to the wolf. But it did crack the ceiling open. The wolf roared and ran as the floor above the dungeons collapsed. Cassandra faded as the debris began to crush her. 

~~

Mahanon blinked as he came to a stop. And then started retching. Whatever the flash of green light had been, his body didn’t agree with it. When he’d finished emptying his guts, he looked up, instantly afraid. Redcliffe surrounded him, but not the Redcliffe he had known. It was crumbling. He realized he was standing in the river, and climbed out, eyes on the sky. The Breach had spread, taking up most of it. At the very edges there was a pitch-dark, starless black. Panicked, he looked for his companions, finding no one. It was just him and crumbling building, the smell of rotting wood thick in the air. The forest was growing back in but it was all wrong. Twisted like something out of his own nightmares. The trees were black. Shivering, he glanced across the water to the castle. Half of it had crumpled to dust, looking as if it had been blown apart. 

He didn’t want to accept it. Couldn’t, for a moment. It was a dream, had to be. Then the Breach expanded, and his hand responded. He fell to his knees, the pain worse than it had been since he’d first woken up after the Conclave. He knew without looking the mark was expanding again. He broke then, clutching his hand to his stomach. It was too much. At long last, he lost the his need to fight for his survival. What was the point? He’d never see Dorian again. The Breach had taken over the sky, and he was going to die anyways. Mahanon stayed like that for a long while, holding his hand. 

_Dorian I’m sorry. I tried._  

He really had. Stayed his hand, kept his temper in check, and _fought_ every moment to get back to Dorian. All for nothing. The Breach expanded again in answer, taking more of his hand with it. Mahanon groaned, wishing it would kill him already. Exhaustion crept over him, and he let it. He reached his good hand inside of his shirt, wrapping it around Dorian’s amulet. He wasn’t sure how long he sat there before the blue light appeared. The spirit wavered, and then shaped itself into something resembling a human, reaching out and touching Mahanon. He hadn’t realized how cold he was until a familiar warmth settled over him. The hopelessness eased, enough for him to speak. 

“I’m sorry. You saved me for nothing.” 

“Not for nothing.” 

Mahanon hung his head. Compassion rested a hand on his head. 

“Not for nothing. I will keep you safe until he comes.” 

Mahanon looked up. Compassion’s face had come into view. Mahanon frowned. 

“Am I in the Fade?” 

Compassion shook its head sadly. “The veil is almost gone. Come with me.” 

With that, Compassion floated off. Mahanon sighed, dragging himself to his feet once more. A bone-deep ache had settled into his arm, running the length of the bones until it hit the mark. That simply burned. He glared down at it. 

“Not yet.” 

Then he followed Compassion, the ground squishing wetly beneath his feet. His new mantra rang in his head. 

_Not yet._  

~~

Dorian came to gradually, registering sensations. Warmth, and something soft. A familiar smell filled his nose. The smell of pine needles and musk, mixed with the scent of brewing tea and stew. He opened his eyes, heart beating a ragged tattoo with newfound hope. The figure that stirred a pot before him was dressed in a raggedy cloak, barely holding together. But he moved with an all too familiar grace, making even the mundane task of stirring a pot over a fire look graceful. The ears were the same, though the hair was longer. Dorian sat up, planting his feet on the floor, his stomach clenching with nerves. 

“Mahanon.” 

The elf froze, shoulders going stiff. Then he turned around slowly and Dorian started. It was Mahanon. Mahanon, at least fifteen years older. But alive. Dorian immediately stood. Mahanon didn’t say a word, only stared at Dorian. His eyes betrayed no emotion, face even more stoic. 

“I didn’t think you’d show.” 

His voice was gruff. From disuse or age Dorian wasn’t sure. He had a million questions begging to be asked at once, tying is tongue firmly in his mouth. All he could do was stare. Mahanon broke first, turning away. 

“Food’s ready. You should eat.” 

That spurred Dorian. He closed the distance between them, placing a hand on Mahanon’s shoulder. The elf froze again, before spinning, backing away from the contact. 

“Dorian-”

Dorian crushed his lips to Mahanon’s. The elf stayed still as a statue. Dorian broke off, seeing Mahanon staring at him. Thinking he’d made a mistake, he started to back away. Only to be intercepted by Mahanon’s arm grabbing him in a vise. He pulled Dorian close and kissed him. Mahanon’s touch was desperate, as if he was afraid Dorian would vanish any moment, and Dorian met him just as frantically.  Then Mahanon stopped, forcing Dorian back. Dorian wouldn’t stop touching him completely, keeping his hands on Mahanon’s forearms. The elf shook his head. 

“Dorian we can’t. I’m old enough to be your-”

Dorian cut him off. “Andraste’s knickers don’t finish that sentence.” 

Mahanon shook his head and Dorian gripped him tighter. 

“I’m a grown man Mahanon. You’re alive and I’ll be damned if I’m letting you go ever again. Don’t deny me this after…” 

Mahanon flinched. Wrong thing to say. Dorian sighed, releasing his hold on the elf. 

“How long?” 

Mahanon turned his head. Dorian’s heart gave one painful beat in response. 

“Mahanon, how long?” 

“Twenty years.” 

Dorian gaped at him. Mahanon looked up, expression unreadable. The age didn’t bother Dorian. The distance did. He closed on Mahanon again, wrapping the elf in his arms. This time, Mahanon didn’t fight him. Dorian felt raw, his pain on his sleeve. Mahanon, waiting in hell for him for twenty years. He cupped Mahanon’s face in his hands, kissing him again. Before sense could reassert itself, he pushed Mahanon back towards the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ahem* 16 if you're wondering.(I know, I know. But Dorian is a grown-ass man) Anywho yeah Mahanon's POV is about five years after the game's timeline. Cassandra's is that year after, and Dorian jumped from the original timeline to twenty-five years. So it's a big mess. Anyways thanks again to my wonderful readers and my beta TheFaye92. Y'all are the absolute best.


	30. Promise Me

_“Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”_ -A.A. Milne

 They didn’t sleep. There was an unspoken agreement between them. This night together, and then back to work. Dorian spent their precious time together reacquainting himself with Mahanon’s body. He’d gathered new scars, even as the old ones had faded. Now, warm and fighting sleep, he absently traced the ones on Mahanon’s back. They were now a faint silver on too-pale skin. _Must be hard to get sun here at the end of the world._ He continued his ministrations, and Mahanon simply sat, letting Dorian feel him. Dorian kept his questions swallowed down, sensing the elf’s mood. He’d survived. All this time. Dorian shivered at the thought and Mahanon looked up at him, searching his face. 

“Go on. I know it’s driving you crazy.” 

“Saw right through me again, did you?” 

Mahanon snorted, shifting a little. “Well?” 

“How did you know I would come?” 

He shrugged. “Compassion said you would. That I would have to wait.” 

“And you believed it?” 

Mahanon made a noncommittal noise in his throat. Dorian eyed him, waiting for an answer. It was odd, he felt. A simple answer. Mahanon still didn’t respond, waving his hand. 

“Next question.” 

Dorian tongued his cheek. “You know I have to leave again, correct?” 

The elf sat up at that, turning his back on Dorian. Dorian joined him, not ready. He wouldn’t survive another goodbye. 

“It’s the amulet right? That’s how he did it?” 

Dorian nodded. “Our little project. He sold himself to Corypheus.” 

Mahanon grunted. “What do you need?” 

“A staff. That wolf ate the last one. Not sure I can control the spell without it.”

The elf’s mouth quirked. He had yet to smile. 

“We need to get started then. The sooner you get back…” 

Dorian reached out, touching Mahanon’s shoulder. “Never again. Once we do this…Never again.” 

Mahanon reached up, holding Dorian’s hand. Dorian took it for the silent agreement it was. The elf stood up, rolling his shoulders. Dorian glanced at his left hand. The stubborn man hadn’t taken the leather glove off he wore there. He was curious, but it could wait. Now, it seemed, Dorian had to try and save the world. He swallowed, and got out of the bed. 

~~

_Year One_

As they walked, Mahanon had to ask. 

“What did you mean by ‘until _he_ comes?’” 

Compassion didn’t stop. “You call him Dorian. He will come. You must survive until then.” 

Mahanon froze. “What?” 

“It’s not safe here. The wolf comes.” 

“How is Dorian going to _get_ here?” 

Compassion didn’t answer. They walked on, and Mahanon realized how much damage had been done. If the world had been on the brink of madness before Mahanon had been flung through time, it was taking its last breaths when he landed. Compassion led him through a land desolate, broken only by the occasional demon or refugee. The Elder One had destroyed all opposition, including the Inquisition. Mahanon learned five years had passed. In that time, Alexius had been killed. The king of Ferelden and the empress of Orlais had both been killed, and Thedas was once again under the control of Tevinter. Kirkwall had, apparently, been the last of the Free Marches to fall. Against Compassion’s advice, he went to Haven first. It was gone. All that remained was snow. 

By then, his hand was almost gone. 

They made for his clan next, but that just led to one narrow escape from Tevinter forces to another. The ocean, for the moment, was completely impassable. Compassion was intermittent in those days, sometimes there, sometimes gone. As the days wore on and the Breach got bigger, it became easier for the spirit to stick around. Mahanon began to realize it was something similar to what he and Solas had discussed long before. This new world was becoming a place where spirits and demons could coincide with mortals. And the demons were etching out the humans. 

Long trains of humans passed them by, often chained, often bound for Tevinter. Mahanon saw almost no elves, dwarves or Qunari. He never learned what happened to them, and Compassion wouldn’t tell him. Mahanon fought, when he could, but he was just one man. He couldn’t turn the tide. 

~~

Dorian took stock of Mahanon’s shack. It was a hunting lodge, suitable for the elf. Dorian’s stomach clenched again at the thought of what Mahanon had gone through. Alone. He’d barely made it a few, paltry weeks. More evidence of how stalwart the elf was in comparison to him. Mahanon led him into the woods, and Dorian shivered, stepping closer to him. The elf gave him a sideways glance, and his lips quirked again. Dorian ignored the way that made his stomach lurch. When he got a view of the shack from a distance, he raised an eyebrow. Mahanon caught it and cleared his throat. 

“Not to your standards ma vhenan?” 

The epithet sent a shiver down his spine. “Usually when I see a shack like that I expect a crazed hermit with a beard.” 

Mahanon stroked his chin. “It hasn’t been _that_ long.” 

Dorian chuckled and, at long last, Mahanon smiled at him. It nearly cracked his face. Dorian’s heart ached. He was still so beautiful. And a tad more dignified with the touch of gray at his temples. 

“At least I know you age well. That could have been a disaster.” 

Mahanon snorted. “Hush now. This forest is dangerous.” 

“Some things get better with age amatus. That’s all I had to say.” 

Mahanon sighed and stopped, turning around shutting Dorian up with a kiss. The desperation from the night before hadn’t eased. If anything, Dorian wanted to cling to Mahanon all the harder, knowing they’d be parted again soon. He’d lose this version of the elf, and possibly any others if he messed up. If Mahanon sensed it, he didn’t show it. Only kissed Dorian until he was lightheaded, and then let him go. 

“I meant it Dorian. Hush.” 

Dorian complied, though somewhat reluctantly. Mahanon led him through the trees, and then to a boat. It led across black waters, to an island, sharp and jagged with a ruin. He gave a sharp inhale when he realized it was Redcliffe Castle. Mahanon climbed into the boat, and looked at Dorian expectantly. 

“You can’t be serious.” 

Mahanon raised his eyebrows, and didn’t dignify Dorian’s complaint with a response. Dorian rolled his eyes and climbed in gingerly. Mahanon took up the oars, as strong as he’d ever been. Dorian found himself staring at the elf’s face. The vallaslin were still sharp and oh so green, the black and green sight casting a strange glow over the elf, throwing the hard planes of his face into sharp relief. He was all shadows, much like their new surroundings. Dorian shivered again and Mahanon tapped him with his foot. 

“You alright?” 

Dorian snorted. “Are you?” 

Mahanon awarded him with a lopsided attempt at a smile. The black water lapped against the boat, the only noise as they pushed across river. Dorian got nauseous, but said nothing. This was not a version of Mahanon he would ask to coddle him. He wanted to ask the elf what he had seen, what he had done, how he’d managed to survive twenty years without Dorian when Dorian had barely made it a mere few weeks. It stretched between them again, the pain and the love, the fear, until even Dorian was weighed down by it all. He didn’t think pushing Mahanon into the nearest bed would be enough to close the gap again. 

Dorian was good and lost in his own mind by the time the boat thumped against the shore. Mahanon climbed out easily, boots sloshing through, what else, black muck. Dorian got to his feet and promptly stumbled. One moment he was about to fall, the next Mahanon braced him, helping over the edge. Then he didn’t let go. Dorian caught his eyes, and Mahanon squeezed his arms before releasing him. 

“Stay close. This is Fen’harel’s territory.” 

Dorian paused, taking a second look at Mahanon. He had, in fact, said that like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

“Fen’harel. As in the ancient elven god of deceit.”

“That’s the one.” 

Mahanon drew his daggers and walked towards the ruins. Dorian opened his mouth, closed it, and followed. 

~~

_Year Four_

Eventually, Mahanon got tired of fighting. Shortly before he lost the ability; the pain in his arm became too great. He wandered back to Redcliffe, bone-weary with exhaustion. Compassion helped, keeping his hand together. For a time. The Breach had long since taken the sky, taken the world. Even the Tevinter patrols had stopped coming. For the first time in his memory, Mahanon found the Hinterlands to be quiet. Even the bears were gone, starved or driven away. He found an old hunting lodge, shored it up with his limited building abilities, and went to sleep. 

_Year Ten_  

Mahanon was outside, skinning dinner, when they came. A man and a little girl, holding hands. They emerged from the trees, staring at Mahanon in shock. He returned it, unable to remember how long it had been since he’d seen another mortal. Longer since he’d talk to one. He pointed his skinning knife at them. 

“Leave.” 

His voice was hoarse from disuse, sounding strange to his own ears. The man recovered enough to shove the girl behind him. 

“What?” 

Mahanon grabbed the bow at his feet, knocking an arrow. “Leave.” 

The man tightened his jaw. In another life, another world, Mahanon might have wanted to get closer to him. He had achingly blue eyes, the color of the sky before it was destroyed. He and the girl were both lean, ragged. The girl peeked around from behind the man, staring at him from behind lank, curly brown hair. Her eyes were big, baleful. She looked, for all the world, like a kicked puppy. Mahanon growled, stepping away. 

“Take the food. Then leave.” 

But the man just stared at him. Like he couldn’t believe Mahanon was real. Compassion chose that moment to reappear. 

“Help them.” 

Mahanon glared at the spirit. “I am. They can take the food and go.” 

The spirit left his side, kneeling next to the little girl. As much as a spirit could kneel anyways. Mahanon knew the spirit was warming her. He turned around and stalked off. He couldn’t handle this. Couldn’t believe these two could be alive, let alone stumble across him. Heavy stomping alerted him to the fact the man had followed him. 

“You pointy-eared son of a bitch!” 

Mahanon stopped, rounding on the human as the man swung. He grabbed the man’s fist, and then head butted him, effectively breaking his nose. The man was driven to his knees, clutching his nose. Mahanon backed away from him, shaking his head. 

“You need to take her and get out of here. It’s not safe.”

The man grunted up at him, and Mahanon felt sick. He needed to get away. But he knew the blood would draw out Fen’harel. Before he could decide, the choice was taken from him. The silence of the forest shattered with a single, ear-piercing scream. 

~~

The castle proved to be as decrepit and creepy as Dorian expected a ruin to be in this wasteland. Mahanon’s warning to stick close was unwarranted. The place felt _wrong_. The veil, so mixed with reality now Dorian could barely notice the difference, plucked at the back of his brain. Urging him towards madness. Voices nipped at his ear, they acted like so many snakes, slithering their merry way down his spine. He reached out and planted his hand on stone, needing the roughness of it. He didn’t realized he was clutching his head until Mahanon pulled his hand away, cupping his face. He peered into Dorian’s eyes, emerald depths filled with concern. Dorian grabbed his wrists. _Not emerald. The color of the Breach._  

“If you need to wait outside…” 

Mahanon trailed off when Dorian squeezed him harder. Sinewy muscle, fiery compared to the frigid air around them, flexed under his hands. Mahanon caught the hint, releasing Dorian. They made their way deeper. The castle came to Dorian hazily, in sensations he would only remember after. It was cold, the only sound dripping water and his own footfalls. Mahanon, of course, made none. More than once, Mahanon had to help him over a rotting step or a pile of debris from the crumbling walls. Dorian fought the voices, practically shouting to him. He didn’t question where they were going. At least, not until Mahanon lead him into the dungeons. It was, naturally, filled with demons. They turned as one, dead eyes and wrong bodies, and Dorian swore he heard them call his name. Mahanon didn’t pause, only flung his hand up. As the demons came toward them, a blast of green light appeared above them. The demons _screamed_ , and then, they were nothing. Dorian gaped at Mahanon as he grabbed his left hand to him, not meeting Dorian’s eyes. He no longer had any questions about how Mahanon had survived. 

The elf ducked into what had been a cell, retrieving a staff. Mahanon showed no expression, his jaw somehow tighter. Dorian didn’t want to know. He was not so eager to hold a dead man’s possession, its energy thrumming in his hand. A balm of sorts against this cursed place. He let Mahanon lead him back outside, not wanting to think about who else was buried in the castle. At long last, the boat was in sight. He could cast the spell. Mahanon stopped once they were some distance from the castle, looking around. 

“I think…” He took a steadying breath, turning reluctantly to Dorian. “It’s time.” 

And there it was, all of the empty years between them and pain so raw and naked Dorian’s heart broke. He reached for the elf and Mahanon held up his hand. 

“No. If you-” He swallowed, shaking his head. “If you come any closer I won’t be able to let you go.” 

Dorian grabbed the amulet from around his neck, slipping it off. He kept his eyes on Mahanon’s, drawing on his power. It was Mahanon’s face that told him they weren’t alone, his eyes shifting to a space above Dorian’s shoulder, any color left in it completely draining away. Then the low rumble, hitting Dorian right between the shoulder blades with a cold dose of fear. 

“Dorian. Run.” 

He didn’t. Couldn’t. Mahanon drew his daggers, and shouted again. 

“Run!” 

~~

_Year Seventeen_

Mahanon chose a hill for John’s grave, digging it himself. He didn’t cry, didn’t speak. He just dug into soft black muck, wondering if he shouldn’t burn the body instead. It hadn’t been love between them. It had been two warm bodies, working to protect each other and Jane. In the end, it turned out, Mahanon couldn’t protect anyone. Compassion, as always, kept him company. Kept the madness at bay. Mahanon buried John, and then went home to his empty bed. He slept again. 

~~

It happened so fast. One second, Mahanon was drawing his daggers. The next, the wolf was on him, snapping at his throat. Dorian barely had time to singe the hairs on the beast before it was over. In one fell swoop, the wolf that would forever haunt him was dead. And Mahanon was right behind him. Dorian knew, even as he fell to his knees beside the bodies, that it was too much blood. Already, too much blood. He pushed the beast off, Mahanon’s daggers embedded into its neck. Mahanon lay in the muck, trembling as he tried to sit up. Blood was leaking from his neck, and from massive gashes across his torso. Dorian tried to stem the bleeding, hands going to work even while his head screamed it was futile. _No. Maker not like this._

“Dorian…” 

Dorian shook his head. “Don’t.” 

Mahanon raised a shaking hand to Dorian’s face, making him stop. The elf smeared blood over Dorian’s cheek and neck, trying to wipe away tears Dorian hadn’t known were falling. 

“Kaffas don’t you do this to me. You swiving, pointy-eared bastard don’t you _dare_.” 

Mahanon ignored him, reaching for his neck with the hand that wasn’t smearing blood all over Dorian. He didn’t quite make it, hand falling down. But Dorian caught the golden glint there. He reached through blood and torn cloth. Then froze, finding Mahanon’s eyes again. The elf had the gall to look at him, voice rasping. 

“I believed.” He closed his eyes, and then forced them open. “I…still do.” 

Dorian crumpled, holding Mahanon’s broken body to him. Dorian clung to the elf, trying, by sheer force of will, to keep him alive. He was in a good position to hear when Mahanon’s ragged breathing slowed to nothing. To _feel_ the life go out of him. Shaking with rage and grief and the sheer wrongness of it, he lay Mahanon into the boat. He closed the man’s lifeless eyes, ripping his own cloak off to cover him. Using his magic, he pushed the boat into the water. When it far enough away, Dorian raised his arms, lighting it on fire. 

Then, he started working the spell to take him home. He could fix this. He had to _fix_ it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I needed the Winnie the Pooh quote. I don't have that much else to say except yes, Mahanon is really dead. Not going to defend it. Don't quit on me yet though, okay? And yeah I figured Sola plus red lyrium equal hulked out Fen'harel.


	31. But Never Doubt I Love

_“Doubt thou the stars are fire;_  
_Doubt that the sun doth move;_  
_Doubt truth to be a liar;_  
_But never doubt I love.”_   \- William Shakespeare

 

Mahanon shivered as they entered the tavern, nauseous with anticipation. The mages stared at their little group as one, emotionless. Reminding Mahanon of wolves waiting for their turn of the kill. His fear replaced by rage as he saw the haggard face of Alexius. Fiona and Felix were right behind him, Felix freezing. The Magister’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“You? You are the Herald of Andraste?” 

Mahanon growled, tempted to reach for his daggers. “Yes.” 

Alexius turned his back on him. “I will have no dealings with a slave." 

Mahanon lost it then, hands going to his daggers. “Where is he?” 

Bull tried to hold him back. Cassandra and Solas readied their weapons. The mages around them did the same. Mahanon only had eyes for Alexius, who froze. 

“What did you do to him? Where is he?!” 

Bull released him, his own hand going to his axe. Before the tension in the air could completely boil over, the door burst open. Both Mahanon and Alexius froze as Dorian entered, pushing his way through the crowd. He walked straight up to Alexius and grabbed his staff, wrenching it from his grasp. 

“Dorian?” Alexius held up his hands. “How?” 

Dorian flipped the staff, pressing the blade at the tip to Alexius’ throat. “If you so much as twitch Alexius I will gut you.” 

“I do believe Lord Pavus, that that is my duty.” 

The whole room turned again, finding a man Mahanon didn’t recognize. Cassandra did though. 

“King Alistair.” 

Several of the humans fell to their knees. Many didn’t, mages on their guard. Mahanon’s eyes strayed back to Dorian, knuckles white he was gripping the staff so hard. Mahanon swallowed, finding his eyes drawn back to the pale man. 

The man gave Mahanon a sideways look as his and Inquisition soldiers filled the room. “So you’re the Herald of Andraste hmm?” 

Mahanon nodded, uncertain. “What is going on?” 

“Well, I received word that the Grand Enchanter had teamed up with a Tevinter magister in a plot to take Redcliffe. So, naturally, I came to find out what was going on.” 

As Alistair spoke, the Inquisition soldiers clapped irons on Alexius. The king turned his attention to Fiona, who had pushed her way forward. 

“Your Majesty. We never intended…” 

“I know what you intended.” Alistair shook his head, his disappointment palpable. “I wanted to help you. You and your followers are no longer welcome in Ferelden.” 

Fiona looked away from him. “But we have _hundreds_ who need protection! Where will they go?” 

His cue. Mahanon gestured to himself and his companions. 

“Well. We did come here to ask for the Mages help to close the Breach.” 

By the time they started sorting things out, Mahanon had already lost interest in the conversation. Dorian had given Alexius’ staff to Felix, and then walked out. He was reeling at the speed and turn events had taken. The moment they finished negotiating the terms between Fiona and Alistair, Mahanon stepped out. Dorian had found Revas, and was patting the hart, shoulders tight with tension. The cloak he’d carried all the way from Tevinter was missing. Mahanon gestured to the others to wait for him. They did, though Cassandra eyed Dorian with blatant suspicion. He approached Dorian with caution, heart in his throat. He reached out to put a hand on Dorian’s shoulder and the mage shook his head. 

“Don’t.” 

Mahanon withdrew his hand, hurt. “What is it?” 

Dorian rounded on him, angrier than Mahanon had ever seen him. He took a step back and Dorian came at him, pushing him roughly. 

“You utter bastard!” 

Mahanon just stared at him, not sure what to do. Dorian came at him again, but this time he just grabbed Mahanon’s coat, fisting it. Then he broke down entirely, burying his face in Mahanon’s chest. His sobs tore straight through Mahanon. He wrapped his arms around Dorian, murmuring to him in Tevene and elvish. He held onto Dorian tightly as the man rocked into him, shaking. 

“I’m here ma vhenan. It’s alright, I’m here.” 

~~

When Dorian settled down, Mahanon introduced him to his companions. It was an odd experience, seeing them defer to Mahanon, look to him as their leader. It suited the elf. Then, Dorian told them everything. He did it as dryly as he could manage, feeling exposed. Mahanon stood at his shoulder, warm and solid and very much _alive_. He’d done it. But instead of relief he only felt drained. By the time he was done, he could tell only Mahanon believed him. Dorian handed the amulet over to Solas as proof. He examined it, blue eyes wide in fascination. Bull was just staring at Dorian. 

“Boss you believe him? The pretty ones are the most dangerous.” 

Mahanon snorted. “I trust him above anyone.” 

Cassandra’s eyes flashed but she said nothing. “We should head back to Haven at once. The we can settle the rest after the Breach is sealed.” 

“I want the three of you to stay with the mages. See they’re brought back safely with the soldiers. Dorian and I will ride ahead.” 

This time, Dorian swore he saw a flicker of something dark cross Solas’ face, but the pale elf said nothing. The three of them followed their orders. Biting their tongue’s, but not questioning. Dorian decided he could get used to watching that. It was well after noon, time to be off. He was glad to see Revas again, though he and Mahanon shared his horse since the fool deer had gotten himself injured. Dorian wrapped his arms around Mahanon’s middle, feeling every hard muscle in his back, every breath he took. It didn’t seem possible. They didn’t speak, and Dorian was grateful. For once, he didn’t have the words. When they made camp, well after sundown, they did it mechanically. Not a word exchanged between them. At least, until Mahanon made the fire. Dorian sat down heavily, and drew his knees to his chest, fighting to keep his eyes open. Mahanon knelt in front of him, placing his hands on Dorian’s arms, squeezing slightly. 

“The other me died. Didn’t he?” 

Dorian met Mahanon’s eyes. He thought he’d cried himself out, but evidently he hadn’t. More tears began to fall. He’d kept that part to himself, his own private hell. The knowledge sat heavily, a black mark next to his heart, poisoning him because it had been his fault. Mahanon cupped his face in calloused hands, wiping away the tears. He was clumsy and awkward and Dorian’s heart _ached_ looking at him. He opened his arms, grabbing the front of Mahanon’s coat and pulling him forward. Mahanon kissed him eagerly, and Dorian could tell the elf had missed him almost as much as he’d missed Mahanon. The elf broke off first though, kissing Dorian’s tear-stained cheeks, then his eyelids. It was a curious gesture, and so in character a broken laugh forced its way out of Dorian. Mahanon still cupped his face, eyes glinting in the firelight. Then he reached into his shirt, pulling off the birthright and slipping it around Dorian’s neck, still warm from the elf’s skin. 

“I believe.” 

He whispered the words, never taking his eyes off Dorian’s. Dorian felt his mouth drop open slightly in surprise. Mahanon gave him a small smile, and nodded as if he could read Dorian’s mind. 

Dorian found his voice, hoarse as it was. “You remember?” 

“Not everything.” Mahanon tapped his temple. “But enough.” 

Dorian crushed Mahanon to him, and the elf nuzzled into his neck, whispering against his skin. 

“Ma’arlath Dorian. Abelas. I won’t leave you again.” 

Dorian clung to Mahanon, drinking the words in. “Amatus.” 

Mahanon raised his head again, looking into Dorian’s eyes. “Ma’arlath.” 

Dorian closed his eyes. He shivered and Mahanon took note, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

“I love you. You’re the bravest, most beautiful, most intelligent man I’ve ever met and I love you.” 

Dorian swallowed, choking on his own emotions. His only response was to kiss Mahanon again.  This time, it was Mahanon tugging him to his feet, and pushing him down to their sleeping skins. Alive. The word rang in his head. Mahanon was _alive_ , and near. And for the night at least, he was Dorian’s. 

~~

It kept coming back in flashes. His other life. It happened when he touched Dorian’s birthright. He remembered pain, white hot as it burned through his chest and neck. His blood, everywhere. And Dorian, beautiful face broken. Mahanon remembered believing Dorian would come for him. _And he did._ Mahanon woke first, blinking away the pain for reality. Dorian was wrapped tightly around him, letting Mahanon use his arm for a pillow. Their hands were linked. The sun would rise soon, Mahanon could see the sky turning to grey. He stilled, enjoying the silence. The morning was cold, but their bed was warm. Dorian was solid behind him, breathing softly onto his neck. Mahanon, for his part, felt a glow in his chest, making it hard to breath. He had meant it when he said he loved Dorian, for he did. He was damned proud of him too. Dorian had done it, saved them all. The least Mahanon could do, he knew, was return the favor. Then find a place for the two of them, make a life together. 

The sky turned to pink and gold. Dorian stirred behind him and Mahanon let go of his hand in favor of rolling over to look at him. The mage looked at him through half-lidded eyes, lips upturned. Mahanon traced his jaw and kissed him slowly, not quite used the fact Dorian was _here_ and he could. They languished for a while, neither quite ready to give up the novelty of being able to reach out and touch the other as they wished. At least, until Dorian’s stomach growled, loudly. Mahanon laughed from his belly, breaking off yet another kiss, shaking from it. Dorian flicked his ear. 

“A crazed fiend you are.” 

Mahanon planted a kiss to Dorian’s taut stomach, tempted to escalate things. Dorian gripped his chin, making Mahanon look up. 

“You best feed me amatus before I resort to eating that nag you call a horse.” 

He glanced over to Buck and Revas, who were still sleeping deeply. “That would be no great loss, come to think of it.” 

Dorian released him and sat up, stretching. Mahanon couldn’t take his eyes off of him, watching his muscles flex under his olive-skin. 

“Amatus.” Dorian admonished him without turning around. 

Mahanon grinned and got up, dressing quickly. Dorian glanced at him with a critical eye. 

“You’ve lost weight.” 

“I’ve been busy.” 

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Too busy to eat?” 

Mahanon grunted in response. The truth was he’d forget, and when he did remember he was too tense. There was simply too much to be done, too much riding on him, and his will was sapped without Dorian around. He bit his tongue, not wanting Dorian to know just how hard it had been without him. The guilty look on Dorian’s face told him the mage knew anyways. Mahanon got into the saddlebags, digging for bread and cheese. He tossed some to Dorian, and then, now that he was under scrutiny, bit into some himself. It was easier, the tension in his stomach far lesser than it had been just the day before. Then, of course, Sulahn’s knife slipped into the dirt. 

Dorian’s picked it up, thumb tracing the wolf. He swallowed a bite of bread and proffered the knife to Mahanon, who took it gingerly. His own tears were threatening to fall, try as he might to hold them back. He ducked his head, trying to hide them from Dorian. The bread was suddenly ashen in his mouth, and he threw it back in the saddlebag. Before he could make another move, Dorian reached out, bracing Mahanon’s shoulders and turning him. Mahanon kept his eyes cast down, the tears falling silently. Dorian wiped them away gently, before pulling Mahanon to him. 

“He loved you amatus. Remember him as he was. And remember it wasn’t your fault.” 

Dorian cradled the back of Mahanon’s head, speaking softly. He held Mahanon together as he shook apart, pent-up emotion from all these weeks without each other. _Or years, depending on how you look at it_. He cried for Sulahn, and the others, and the life he’d never had but remembered anyways. When he was done, Dorian pulled out a handkerchief from who-knew-where, and wet it with his water skin. Then he proceeded to clean Mahanon’s face, nice and neat. 

“Now there. We have shed enough manly tears for a lifetime don’t you think?” 

Mahanon laughed. “That we have. Let’s get on with it.” 

Dorian kissed him gently, humming his content, and started breaking down camp. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow batman no one is dying this chapter. I would like to reiterate Mahanon did really die, but time travel. Anyways we're on our way out, the next big event is the Breach and then Haven and that's about where I want to wrap up this story. The good news is, I don't want it to end so I might write a sequel. The bad news is I haven't planned it out yet so it's not a hundred percent. But you guys will be seeing more of Mahanon and Dorian from me either way. Posting this then need a break for the weekend. Thank you all so much for your support so far. You've been troopers. All my love to my beta who took me to Shakespeare in the Park hence the sudden Shakespeare quote.


	32. How Much Was Mine

_“And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.”_ -Kurt Vonnegut   


When they returned to Haven, Solas found he did not like what he saw. This Tevinter who had come from nowhere, and now wouldn’t leave Mahanon’s side. It didn’t take much to connect Tevinter with the scars on Mahanon’s back. Solas burned with anger over it. The stench of slavery was all too familiar, all too easy to recall, and it was with shame he looked at the younger elf and saw his own past. He glanced at Mahanon, laughing with Varric by his fire, eyes bright under his vallaslin, and swallowed bile. Pavus reached over, linking his hand with Mahanon’s, whispering in his ear, and Solas bit back harsh words for the both of them. Instead, his eyes wandered to Mother Giselle, watching the pair with barely-concealed concern, and decided to have words with her. Should the Breach be sealed successfully, it would have to be dealt with. If Solas was going to be here, he would not sit by and watch a promising man of the People diminish himself. The mistakes of the past could not be borne again. 

~~

Dorian leaned against the stone wall, absently listening to Varric and Mahanon discuss the finer points of making arrows. It may as well gibberish to him. In truth, he was watching Leliana. She was subtle, he’d give her that. She glided by, never looking directly at him, speaking always to a passing soldier or messenger. She never looked at Mahanon either. He’d met her only briefly two evenings before, when they’d gotten to Haven. He’d met Cullen and Josephine as well, staying up late with Mahanon to explain what had happened. When the others had arrived, Solas had confirmed the amulet’s powers. Then, he’d destroyed it, with Dorian’s blessing. In their brief time at Haven, Dorian had remained an outcast, regarded with open suspicion and disdain. Only Mahanon seemed happy to have him around. He told himself he didn’t mind, he was used to being pariah. 

It worked until the messenger came, asking for him and Mahanon to report to the chantry. _This can only end well_. Of course, when they arrived, Cassandra, Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana were all present. Josephine was the giveaway, biting her lip and stepping nervously from one delicately-shoed foot to the other. Dorian sighed, leaning against the nearest pillar and folding his arms. 

“You may as well get on with it.” 

Mahanon eyed him, and then them. “Get on with what?” 

Before anyone could answer him Dorian replied for them, voice bitter to his own ears. “They want to know if the evil Tevinter Magister is _using_ their precious herald.” 

“You are on shaky ground Dorian.” Cassandra had her hand on her sword hilt, grip loose. 

Mahanon growled. “As are the four of you.” 

Josephine piped up. “We only want to-”

“Be certain I won’t muck up this business with the Breach.” Mahanon snapped. “If I thought one of you gave a damn about _me_ -”

He cut himself off. Dorian swallowed his own anger. It seemed he was going to have prove, once more, that he loved the elf. Funny, the only one who didn’t ask it of him was Mahanon. Cullen cleared his throat. 

“You are right. The Breach is our priority. It has to be. We thought it was yours as well.” 

Cullen didn’t flinch from the look Mahanon gave him. Dorian would have. Mahanon clenched his left hand. 

“It is. But do you any of you truly believe I am possessed? Under some spell? Because if you do you best cut me down now.” 

Cassandra released her grip on her sword. Dorian thought he saw a flash of guilt in her eyes. 

“I do not. You are right. We overstep.” 

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. If Dorian didn’t want to light his golden hair on fire, he might have found the man attractive. 

“I agree with Cassandra.” 

Dorian couldn’t help but look at Leliana, who said nothing. He wondered if he wouldn’t find a dagger in his ribs one of these days. Josephine cleared her throat. 

“Please accept our apologies, both of you. This is a tense time for us all.” 

Mahanon grunted and turned his back on them, storming out of the chantry. The heavy doors slammed behind him. Dorian mentally started counting to a hundred before he followed him. Before he got to ten, Cullen approached him. The others had disappeared, back to whatever it was they each did all day. The commander seemed torn, nervous. Dorian raised an eyebrow. 

“Change your mind about me after all?” 

Cullen huffed out a strained laugh. “Maker, no. I wanted to apologize. I have been…I was a Templar before this. I can be too quick to cast mages in the worst possible light.” 

Dorian sighed. “I suppose my countrymen haven’t done much to allay your concerns.” 

“That they haven’t. I wanted to ask…” 

“You wanted to ask how the Herald of Andraste met a snake from the Imperium, no?” 

Cullen frowned. “That wasn’t my-”

Dorian held up his hand. “I’m sassing you Commander.” 

That got an aggravated shake of the head. Dorian felt some of his anger recede, giving Cullen a small smile. 

“That’s quite alright. I would tell you, but it’s not my story to tell. Instead, know this. I would cut off my own hands before allowing any harm to come to Mahanon.” 

Cullen seemed surprised, but reassured. Dorian didn’t blame him for the surprise. Even he was caught off-guard when he said it out loud. But it was true. He’d changed, so much so he wasn’t sure he’d recognize himself in the mirror should one magically appear in this backwards little town. This new version of him was a stranger, one who would gladly walk into the Deep Roads and take on an army of darkspawn singlehandedly if Mahanon asked him to do so. More than that, this was a version of him that _wanted_ to be here, with this raggedy group of desperate soldiers trying to save Thedas. Dorian only realized it as Cullen smiled at him. 

He unfolded his arms. “This has been a lovely chat and we should certainly do it again, but I need to go find our Herald.” 

Cullen nodded. “Alright. Take care, I can see he bites.” 

He said it blithely, turning around without so much as a quirk of his lips. Dorian reached up, feeling one of Mahanon’s marks on his neck. In plain view. He groaned and went to find the elf. 

~~

_He was running. Had to run. His life depended on it. A woman ran next to him, stumbling in her old age. He grabbed her arm, pulling her along with him. Behind them was a sea of spiders. Their chattering nipped at his ears, speaking things meant to be forgotten. A deeper voice preyed on him, egging him. It wanted him to fall, wanted him to fail. His turn to stumble. Fear burned through his chest, threatening to stifle his very breath. The woman pulled him up again. The Divine. Her strength was his, and he was able to run on. They started climbing up the only escape they had. He sent her first. A green rift lay at the top. Their way out. Mahanon thought he saw a glimmer in it. Dorian, a blade to his throat. It was the metal of the dagger catching the light, shining through. The Divine pulled him up, and then slowed._

_“Keep running!”_

_He reached the rift, clearly seeing Dorian, eyes dead as the dagger pressed in. Mahanon realized the Divine wasn’t behind him and turned around, seeing she’d been taken by the spiders. To save him. He reached for her but she shouted her dissent._

_“Go!”_

_So he turned to the Breach, now empty of Dorian. And he ran._

“Mahanon wake up.” 

Mahanon did wake, gasping for air. The same nameless, formless dread crept up his throat, closing it off. He drew in deep, ragged breaths, seeing Dorian hovering over him, and sat up. He needed to get out of the bed, needed to get out of the tangle of covers. He threw them off and planted his feet firmly on the floor. His back ached, skin feeling too tight and too hot. He still couldn’t get enough air. 

“Mahanon-”

He felt Dorian’s gentle touch on his back and couldn’t stand it. He rose unsteadily, pulling on his shirt, leathers, and boots on quickly. He stumbled out of the door and nearly fell into the snow. Somehow, the cold steadied him. Woke him up, the frigid air soothing away the last dregs of his nightmare. They were getting worse. He sucked in the cold air, feeling it burn his lungs. Mahanon knew he should get out of the snow, but he didn’t want to go back to bed. He’d have to explain to Dorian what was going on, and he wasn’t prepared for that just yet. Shivering, he forced himself to his feet and towards the tavern. The fire was banked when he entered. The only people there were Flissa, snoring in a chair in the corner, and Cassandra. 

She just stared at him, holding the book she was reading open. Then she took her feet off the stool across from her, indicating he should sit down. Mahanon did, relishing the coals. Cassandra turned back to her book, head bowed. That left him with his own thoughts, black as they were. He clasped his hands together, leaning over on his elbows. He was exhausted and wound too tight, dealing with nightmares even Dorian couldn’t ease. What was worse, he wasn’t even sure what he was seeing, couldn’t remember a damn thing. He sighed, rubbing his temples. 

He glanced up to find Cassandra watching him, and gave her a half-hearted smile. “I think I’m going mad.” 

The words came out roughly. He wondered if he’d been shouting in his sleep. Cassandra closed her book, raising her eyebrows. Mahanon stared at the glowing coals of the fire, not sure where to start. Not even sure if she wanted to listen, really. 

“I was a slave.” He could almost feel her stiffen, could see it out of the corner of his eye. “Not for long, and I had it easy compared to some. But…” He shook his head. “I can’t do this. Be your Herald. I’m too broken and I’m going to fail.” 

To his surprise, he found Cassandra’s hand on his knee. He glanced at her and she quickly withdrew it, seeming as surprised as he was. Then she spoke. 

“You won’t. You _can_ seal the Breach. You’ve already done more than many thought was possible. Most of the people in the Hinterlands have you to thank for their increased stability.” She looked him in the eye. “You’ve made me believe in your abilities.” 

He found himself momentarily speechless. Cassandra cleared her throat and went back to her book. He swallowed. 

“Thank you.” 

She looked up, giving him a small smile. “May I ask you something?” 

He nodded and she closed the book again, setting it on the table behind her. 

“Was Dorian your master?” 

Mahanon bit back a groan. “Yes. But unwillingly. He freed me and saved my life at least three times now.” 

 “Hmm.” Cassandra shook her head. “I am still not sure I approve of him.” 

He snorted. “Well, I’m not hanging on your approval.” 

She caught the slight humor in his tone, rising to her feet. “Very well. Try and get some sleep Mahanon.” 

It was the first time she’d called him by name and not title. He appreciated it deeply. He was no Herald of anyone. He could barely handle being Mahanon Lavellan. The to the tavern closed, and then opened with a cold blast of air. He turned to find Dorian in the doorway, holding his coat. Their eyes met and Dorian ducked his head, coming forward. He wrapped Mahanon’s coat around his shoulders and walked around the bar. Mahanon stood and pulled on the coat, guilty he was keeping Dorian awake at this hour. 

Flissa let out another soft snore as Dorian bent behind her counter. Mahanon realized belatedly he was helping himself. Dorian poured two pints and brought one to Mahanon, tapping their mugs together before sitting down and taking a deep drag from his. Mahanon snorted and drank from his. He peered into the mug and raised his eyebrows at Dorian. 

“You have a whole tavern to choose from and you still pick the Ferelden beer?” 

Dorian gave a contended sigh as he finished his swallow. “I trust you to keep my secret.” 

Mahanon crossed his heart and then drank some more. Dorian eyed him as he drank. Mahanon wiped his mouth, knowing what the mage was after. 

“I’ve been having nightmares since the conclave. I can’t remember what any of them are about.” 

Dorian frowned. “Anything else I should know?” 

Mahanon stared into his pint again. “I don’t think the Breach is the end of it. And I’m terrified I’m going to get us all killed.” 

“Anything else amatus?” 

“I have a hangnail on my pinky.” 

Dorian ignored him, finishing his pint. Then he grabbed Mahanon’s, finishing it as well. He set both aside and rose. 

“Come back to bed. I can help with the nightmares, the Breach will have to wait until morning, I’ll make sure you don’t kill anybody at least until dawn, and as for the hangnail you should stop chewing on your blighted fingernails. It’s a truly deplorable habit.” 

Mahanon huffed out a laugh and rose, letting Dorian wrap and arm around his shoulders. Then he bit his lip. 

“I’m scared.” 

“I know. But if we all die tomorrow it won’t be because of you. Besides, we shall be together.” 

Mahanon sighed. “I’d prefer if we stayed alive and together.” 

They stepped back into the icy night, and Dorian pressed a quick kiss to Mahanon’s temple. 

“As would I. Our chances would improve greatly if we got some rest.” 

He grunted in response and let Dorian lead him back to the house the Inquisition had leant him. Sleep. He could do that. 

He hoped. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a climax coming(this sentence sounded less dirty in my head). Anyways not much to say today except I am working diligently to not screw up the ending. I thought once I finished this I could finish Fire on the Mountain and then work on this story's sequel which is definitely happening. I'm back on tumblr with my beta TheFaye92 if you guys want to check us out or yell at us or whatever it is you use tumblr for. http://thedissonantsisters.tumblr.com/ I shall maybe post an excerpt for the next chapter later today, and a preview from the sequel. Thank you guys for your continued support. I am going to go pass out in my coffee now.


	33. The Heart to Conquer It

_"Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers, but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain, but for the heart to conquer it."_ -Rabindranath Tagore

Dorian scooped some of the slop they were trying to pass off as oatmeal into a couple of bowls. The southern mages were gathering, readying themselves to close the Breach. Dorian’s goal, for the moment, was to get Mahanon to eat something. He pushed his way back through the crowd, finding Mahanon right where he’d left him. Next to the fire, flipping Sulahn’s knife over and over, catching the handle. Dorian paused, watching him. His eyes were far and away. He paused in his knife-throwing only long enough to gnaw on his thumbnail, switching hands with the knife and repeating the flipping. Dorian glanced at their gruel, steaming away in the morning cold. 

“You just going to stare at it Sparkler?” 

He turned to find the dwarf, Varric, watching him with amusement. Dorian smiled in turn. 

“I was just trying to figure how I’m going to get Mahanon to eat this without forcing it down his throat. I don’t want to eat it and I _like_ eating. “ 

Varric snorted, scratching his temple. “I may be able to help you out. Come on.” 

He waved his hand. Dorian followed him to his tent, looking around. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but a desk, scrolls piled high on top of it, and piles of books weren’t it. Varric went to a chest, digging through it as Dorian waited. 

“Word has it that you are a Deshyr from the Merchant’s Guild Varric.” 

Varric laughed. “Well the word is right for once.” 

“What is a Deshyr from the Merchant’s Guild doing…well. Here.” 

The dwarf turned around, eyes twinkling. “I could ask the same thing of a pampered, noble Tevinter.” 

“You can’t call me ‘pampered’. No one’s peeled a grape for me in _weeks_.” 

Dorian kept his eyes on Varric’s. He would not be cowed, though he did not suspect that was the dwarf’s intention. Varric held up his hand, a jar of honey ensconced in his grip. 

“Talk to Josephine. She can arrange something.” 

Dorian held out the bowls to him, smiling again. He hadn’t had much time to form an opinion of the Inquisition, but if there were more men around like Varric he didn’t think he would mind it so much. Varric drizzled the honey on both bowls, pushing a finger to his lips. 

“This stays between you and me Sparkler.” 

“Of course.” 

He bowed, as well as he could with two bowls of oatmeal and in a tent for a dwarf. Varric chuckled again and Dorian went to go feed Mahanon. The elf was still flipping knife. Dorian sat down, handing Mahanon his bowl. Their fingers brushed together over the bowl and Mahanon smiled tightly, still tuned out. Dorian nudged him in the ribs and Mahanon gave him a sideways glance. 

“Did you say something?” 

“I am going to try not to be offended by that.” 

Mahanon looked down at his bowl, as if trying to remember how it had gotten into his hand. He slipped the knife into his boot. Then he cupped the bowl in both hands and stared at it. 

“Mahanon. Eat.” 

Mahanon grabbed his spoon, stirring the oatmeal. Finally, he took a bite. Then another one. Dorian smiled as Mahanon ate the whole bowl. When the elf glanced at him he looked away, focusing on his own bowl. He missed it when Mahanon leaned over, kissing his cheek. Dorian set his bowl down and grabbed Mahanon’s arm, pulling him in for a real kiss. Then he gripped Mahanon’s arms, holding him away. 

“If I believe in anything, it’s you. You can do this.” 

Mahanon pressed his forehead to Dorian’s. “Not without you.” 

“You could. Just not as stylishly.” 

The elf laughed and pressed a light kiss to Dorian’s lips. “I love you.” 

Dorian wished he wouldn’t say that so casually. As it was the easiest thing in the world to admit. Chest burning, he kissed Mahanon again in response. 

“Uh, Herald.” 

Mahanon grunted, bowing his head. Dorian looked over to see Cullen, blushing and pointedly not looking at them. 

“It’s time.” 

Dorian felt Mahanon stiffen, could practically hear his heart rate speed up. He squeezed Mahanon’s knee and the elf gave him a small, forced smile. Then he got to his feet, offering Dorian his hand. Dorian took it, trying to look like he wasn’t as frightened as he felt. The Breach was waiting. 

~~

His hand opened when they neared the Breach. Cassandra had asked if it bothered him. He lied and said no. He glanced at it, crackling with green energy, and focused on the Breach. Cassandra and Solas sounded behind him. 

“Mages!” 

“Focus past the Herald! Let his will draw from you!” 

He surged further into the Breach, feeling it drawing on his hand. Felt the mages as they added their power. It felt impossible to control, turning his body into a tool. He rallied, determined to keep his feet until…until. The Breach fought him. Then gave in a blast of energy. He was knocked back onto his knees head rocking uselessly. His vision dimmed. Through sheer force of will he stayed conscious. With a last shake of his head he realized the Breach was closed. He’d done it. 

“You did it!” 

Cassandra’s voice was victorious, the mages answering in triumph. Stunned, Mahanon rose to his feet. He looked to Dorian, who was smiling at him. He grinned back, still feeling shaky. Cassandra brushed her hand lightly over his shoulder, nodding her approval. He found he was glad for it. Dorian pushed his way forward. He didn’t wrap Mahanon up in his arms, didn’t kiss him. Just took his hand, examining the mark. Then he traced Mahanon with just his eyes, checking for injury. Mahanon smiled, cupping his cheek. _We did it._  

Before either of them could move further, Cassandra gave the call to head back. Everyone fell in line. Cassandra looked expectantly at them and Mahanon held his hand. There was something he had to do. He wound his fingers through Dorian’s, tugging him towards the nearest cliff edge. He picked out stones with his eye as they walked, letting Dorian’s hand go in favor of collecting them. Dorian didn’t ask what he was doing. Mahanon had the feeling he knew. He finished arranging the stones quickly, making Sulahn’s cairn. When he was done, he pulled the wolf-handled knife out from his boot, sticking it in. 

“Ir abelas Sulahn. Dareth shiral ma enansal.” 

He knelt there for what seemed like a lifetime, wondering. Maybe if he’d been a better man, a stronger man, things would never come to this. Dorian’s hand went to his shoulder, squeezing. Mahanon reached up and gripped his hand, needing his touch. At last, he rose to his feet. Time to head down the mountain and figure out how to face whatever came next. 

~~

Mahanon found it hard to relax and join the others’ revelry. The sun had set, and it seemed most of the Inquisition was drunk or on their way there. They danced, they laughed. He held himself apart, watching. Mahanon felt his namesake then, feeling like the wolf that hesitates to slink in next to the fire. He just couldn’t let it go, the questions he still had, his sneaking suspicion this victory had been too easy. Dorian had given up on him for a moment, dancing with Josephine. It didn’t help when Cassandra and Cullen reacted much the same as Mahanon, Cassandra pacing the fences and Cullen not letting some of his soldiers indulge in the festivities. Mahanon found himself watching Dorian. He _had_ always like the way the man danced. He was just wondering how paranoid he was really being when Cassandra joined him. 

“Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm. The Breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering rifts, and many questions still, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism is spreading.” 

Mahanon snorted. “ _My_ heroism? Or my luck?” 

He thought he saw Cassandra’s mouth twitch. “A strange kind of luck. I’m not sure if we need more or less…With the Breach closed, we will need a new focus.” 

Mahanon would certainly enjoy less of his particular brand of luck. He’d barely finished the thought when the alarm bells started singing out. 

“Forces approaching! To arms, to arms!” 

Cassandra brushed his shoulder, grounding him as the temple fell into panic. “We must get to the gates!” 

Mahanon followed her, Varric falling into step next to him. He looked around desperately for Dorian, at last spotting him pushing through the crowd, staff already in hand. The four of them made their way to Cullen. 

“Cullen?” 

“One watch-guard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.” 

He pointed and Mahanon went to look, stomach in knots. 

“Under what banner?” 

“None.” 

There was banging on the doors. And a sudden voice. 

“I can’t come in unless you open!” 

Mahanon frowned. The voice sounded young, nasally. Against his better judgement he went to open them. A giant of a man strode towards him with an axe. The unmistakable sound of a knife entering flesh met his ears and the soldier stiffened before falling to his knees. The other bodies surrounding the gate didn’t escape Mahanon’s notice. Nor, he supposed, could the pale young man who strode towards him, half of his face hidden by a ridiculously large hat. Cullen was at his side as he approached the tall figure, sword drawn.  

“I’m Cole. I came to warn you. to help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.” 

_Yeah. I noticed._ “What is this? What’s going on?” 

“The Templars come to kill you.” 

Mahanon really wished he felt more surprise. Terrified of the lights on the mountain, the massive army approaching, sure. Surprised? Not really. 

“Templars?” Cullen surged forward. “Is this the Order’s response to our talks with the mages?  Attacking blindly?” 

“The Red templars went to the Elder One. You know him? He knows you. You took his mages. There.” 

The kid sure pulled off creepy well. Mahanon followed his hand. The figures before him were unfamiliar, but the one with the red lyrium growing out of his face sent a shock of cold fear for him. 

“I know that man, but this Elder One…”

 Cullen’s voice was so soft Mahanon almost didn’t hear him over the sound of his heart thudding in his ears. 

“He’s very angry you took his mages.” 

Mahanon grit his teeth. “Cullen give me a plan, anything!” 

“Haven is no fortress. If we are to survive this monster we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can.” 

Mahanon nodded and Cullen gripped his sword, turning towards their forces. 

“Mages! You, you have sanction to engage them. That is Samson, he will not make it easy. Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!” 

Mahanon took a deep breath. He was trying to remind himself this was not Minrathous. The Inquisition was not a group without experience. He was no longer a slave. It didn’t help. His hands shook. Varric, Cassandra, and Dorian ran with him. Dorian cast barriers over them and Mahanon threw himself at the nearest Templar. Battle-fury was his, a bloodlust that scared him when he stopped to think about it, late at night. Now though, with Dorian’s barrier licking his skin and Cassandra’s war-cry in his ear, he gave in. He didn’t aim to kill. His daggers weren’t made for that, not here. Rather, he sliced femurs, arms, necks, inflicting wounds that crippled. Cassandra sometimes finished them off, or Varric. Or they just fell into the snow, unable to get back up. The copper scent of blood filled the air, splattering his coat and boots. It steamed when it hit the snow, hissing and snapping in cold. 

It didn’t take long for the templars to be cleared out, and a solider was leading them to the next trebuchet. The soldiers manning it had been killed. More templars swarmed them. Varric’s arrows whizzed by Mahanon’s ear, straight into the eye of an axeman about to take his head off. The same body caught fire, and Mahanon didn’t have to look back to know Dorian was looking out for him. He leapt, driving both daggers into the chest of his next target. When he’d cleared a path he started crewing the trebuchet, expecting the others to cover him. All he could was take solace in the fact it was loaded and turn. The next wave came. Mahanon turned, heart in his mouth when he saw they were going after Dorian. 

Mahanon lost time. One moment he was turning the wheel of the trebuchet. The next, he was stabbing a man in the kidney’s, dropping him and stabbing the next through his rib cage, puncturing his lungs. He took a moment to check and make Dorian was alright before turning around and aiding Cassandra. They fell into a rhythm. Clear templars, ready the trebuchet. Repeat. Until at long-last they were surrounded by corpses, each of them still standing. Mahanon panted and took hold of the trebuchet one last time. Then it was done. There was a sharp _snap_ and the boulder was flung through the air, into the mountain. There was a concussion and then—Mahanon grinned. Then there was an avalanche that buried the templars. Their horn sounded and a cry of triumph went through the soldiers that had found their way to his little party. 

Then Mahanon saw it. He wasn’t sure what _it_ was at first. To fast to be a storm cloud, to big to be anything else. Then it screeched. The trebuchet exploded next to him, red lightning turning quickly to flame. Mahanon was knocked on his back for the _second_ time that day. The dragon that had taken out the trebuchet flew back to the chantry. Dorian was there suddenly, helping him to his feet. 

He shouted to the others. “Everyone to the gates!” 

~~

“We need everyone back to the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against the beast! At this point, just make them work for it.” 

Dorian had thought he’d had a pretty good grasp of fear. Knew its ins and outs, knew it twisted his belly and fogged his mind. He’d been on his knees, he’d trembled. He’d screamed. But anything he’d felt before paled in comparison to what he felt when the dragon had angled it’s breath inches away from Mahanon. His will was flagging, his strength buckling. Yet he had an entirely new reaction to fear. He utterly ignored it, pouring energy into Mahanon and Cassandra’s barriers. If Mahanon was going to survive this, he needed to give everything he had and then some. 

He could do that. 

Of course, they picked there way through buildings, pulling out strays. Dorian even found himself rushing headlong into a burning house, preventing Mahanon from doing so, and dragging a body out. They made their slow, painful way back to the chantry. At last, there was no one left to help. They fell back, the doors opening for them. Roderick of all people ushered them inside, clutching his bleeding guts. 

“The chantry is your shelter!” 

Dorian made sure Mahanon was inside first before following, watching as Roderick fell into Cole’s arms. 

“He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep. He’s going to die.” 

Dorian raised his eyebrows. Roderick moaned. 

“What a…charming boy.” 

Dorian helped Cole with Roderick, seeing Cullen reappear. 

“Herald! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.” 

Cole decided to chime in. “I saw an archdemon. I was in the Fade, but it looked like that.” 

“I don’t care what it looks like. It’s cut a path for that army.” Cullen snarled. “They’ll kill everyone in Haven.” 

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” 

Dorian straightened, looking to Mahanon. The elf had the good decency not to look back as he answered. 

“If it will save these people, he can have me.” 

“The hell he can!” 

Mahanon did meet Dorian’s eyes then, holding out his hand. Dorian got the message. _Not now_. He clenched his jaw. If not now, then when? Thankfully, Cole stepped in. 

“It won’t. He wants to kill you. No one else matters. He’ll crush them, kill them, anyways. I don’t like him.” 

_Me neither._  

“You don’t like-” Cullen gave up. “Herald. There are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.” 

“We’re overrun. To hit the enemy, we’d bury haven.” 

Dorian swallowed as Mahanon spoke. Cullen’s voice was strained. 

“We’re dying. But we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.” 

Dorian growled. “I did _not_ join the Inquisition so you could drop rocks on our heads. Dying is a last resort. For a templar, you think like a blood mage.” 

Mahanon stepped between them before Cullen could decide if he was angry or not. He shot Dorian a look. Dorian was about to argue further when Cole broke the tension again. 

“Yes. That. Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Roderick’s voice was laced with pain, but it was clear. “There is a path, you wouldn’t know it. Unless you made the summer pilgrimage. Like I have. The people _can_ escape. She must have shown me—Andraste must have shown me so I can t-tell you.” 

Mahanon stepped in closer to Roderick, wary. Cagey. 

“What are you on about Roderick?” 

“It was whim that I walked the path. The start was overgrown. Now, with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers. I don’t now, if this simple memory can save us, this could be more than mere accident.” 

Dorian wasn’t sure if he liked the look Roderick was giving Mahanon. Like the elf was Andraste come again. 

“ _You_ could be more.” 

Mahanon raised an eyebrow. “What about it Cullen? Will it work?” 

Cullen nodded, and Dorian felt hope spring into his chest. “Possibly, if he shows us the path. What of your escape?” 

Mahanon did look at Dorian then. The hope he’d felt died there. Mahanon was going to buy his Inquisition time. Dorian shook his head. 

“Don’t you dare ask me to stay behind.” 

Mahanon gave him a tight smile, the smile of a man headed for the gallows. Dorian could feel the noose slip around his own neck as Cullen realized what the two of them already knew. 

“Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way.” Cullen turned to his soldiers. “Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick. Move!” 

Mahanon only broke Dorian’s gaze when Roderick spoke to him. “Herald. If you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you.” 

The elf just stared at Roderick, green eyes wavering in the light of the lamps. It was much like telling a beast of prey you were praying for their well-being. Mahanon shook his head, glancing at Dorian once more. Then he turned back to Cullen. 

“They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line.” 

Mahanon nodded and strode forward. Dorian fell into step behind him. He had no other choice. Cullen wasn’t quite done with them yet though. 

“If we are to have a chance, if _you_ are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.” 

Dorian watched Mahanon straighten his shoulders and walk out into the snow. Dorian followed, surprised when Cassandra and Varric joined them once more. The heavy doors slammed shut behind them, leaving them out in the cold. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it drives me bonkers following the game so closely cause you guys were there, you know what happens. But it felt necessary. Next couple chapters will be better about this. Let's see I want to finish this, Fire on the Mountain, and then I have a modern AU for you guys I'm working on based off a cheesy eighties movie(I'll let you guys guess which one). Need something light-hearted while I finish planning out Dissonant's sequel. Preview for that should be coming soon. Thanks to TheFaye92 for all her help and her futile attempts to convince me I'm alright at this, and to you guys for your continued readership. Don't forget, you can now find both of us under thedissonantsisters on tumblr.


	34. A God Superior

_“Men rarely if ever dream up a god superior to themselves. Most gods have the manners and morals of a spoiled child.” -_ Robert A. Heinlein

 

Cassandra followed Mahanon outside without a second thought. She’d follow wherever he led now, after the events of the day and night. She didn’t miss the desperate way he threw himself at the templars, his willingness to take blows meant for her. His eyes were wild, strength seeming indomitable. He was determined to win this battle for them, to give the people time to escape. Cassandra decided then and there she’d stick by Mahanon until the very end. Unfortunately, the elf seemed to have other plans. 

He was simply reckless now, a whirlwind of fury and daggers, killing men before Cassandra could get them. She realized presently he was protecting her. Cassandra almost smiled, and stepped up. She would not let him throw his life away, not if there was a chance he could still survive this. Mahanon moved towards another axeman, both daggers up. Cassandra was faster.  She took the blow he was trying to absorb, feeling her barrier weaken when the man was blasted back in a flash of fire. She looked back to Dorian, seeing the scowl on his face. His stormy eyes met hers, and he waved his hand. Her barrier was back to full-strength. 

They made their bloody way to the trebuchet. They cleared the area quickly enough, and Mahanon was back to crewing the trebuchet. They followed much the same pattern as before, protecting the elf while he worked. Cassandra nearly missed the archer aiming for Mahanon’s back. 

“Mahanon!” 

She didn’t miss Mahanon turning around, the arrow disintegrating before it hit him. She _did_ catch his look of fear as he looked beyond her. She caught Dorian’s cry of pain. Turning, she found a templar had gotten through, slicing through his bicep. His barrier had been down. She rushed towards him as he blasted the offending templar away from him. Blood poured out of the wound, pooling onto the ground. Cassandra sliced the throat of the templar before he could rise, seeing Varric take care of their archer. They had a respite, however brief. Dorian waved her off when she tried to look at the wound. 

“Behind you.” 

His face was tight. She heard it before she saw it. A scraping over the ground, a noise that made her skin crawl. Turning, she saw a monster coming at them, the remains of templar armor straining over its massive frame. It bulged and glowed with red lyrium. The scraping came from what used to be a hand dragging over the ground. Cassandra urged Dorian back to Varric. The reformed, Mahanon coming to her side. 

“Stay behind it. Let me take the hit.” 

Mahanon eyed her, and gave a slight nod. Then he charged. She was right behind him, watching him roll as the monster swung. Dirt and snow flew up as it missed. Cassandra shouted getting its attention. She didn’t let herself think about who this was before the lyrium took hold. She focused on keeping it off the elf, letting him drive his daggers into it’s back and hamstrings. It raised its arm and she slashed and jumped back, cutting at lyrium. The sickly scratch of metal against stone reverberated back through her sword, jolting her fingers. Cassandra clenched her teeth as the monster swung, rolling out of its way. It moved faster than she had anticipated, nor did she expect the wall of fire that appeared between her and the monster. Her barrier flagged and then grew again. 

Mahanon gave a roar of fury, and Cassandra knew Dorian must have been hurt again. Keeping _her_ safe. She rushed the beast when Mahanon did, ignoring the incoming templars for the moment, at least when she saw two fall due to Varric. Her and the elf struck in sync, crushing through lyrium and finding flesh at long last. Cassandra pressed her sword in as far it would go. Whatever she hit, it was vital. The monster fell to its knees with a soul-shattering scream. Mahanon was behind it with his daggers, driving them into its neck. With a growl he decapitated the beast, the red lyrium letting off a blast of energy. Mahanon shook his head, to clear it she supposed, and ran behind her. When Cassandra turned, she found Dorian and Varric were surrounded, fending off more templars. And Dorian had an arrow sticking out of his back. 

They weren’t expecting Mahanon. He lashed out in a blind rage, forcing his way to Dorian. Cassandra mopped up after him, making sure the area was clear, before she returned to the trebuchet. Dorian had fallen to his knees, face lined with pain. Her heart went out to him, but they weren’t finished here. It was Cassandra who tightened the trebuchet. She was the one who saw the dragon, the one who cried out. She found herself grabbing Varric, pushing him in front of her as the ground exploded behind them. Both of them were knocked back, a massive pillar of flame between them and Mahanon. Dorian, Cassandra couldn’t see. She could only watch as the Elder One and his dragon bore down on the lone elf, his eyes glittering with anger as he got to his feet. 

Then, they had to run again. 

~~

Mahanon’s ears were ringing. He’d hit his head this time. He sat up, noting his daggers were gone. He was surrounded by fire, and Dorian was crumpled against the trebuchet. And he saw the Elder One, striding towards him. Hate filled him. At last, here was the one. The ground shook and he turned to find the dragon had landed, coming for him. It screamed into the night as he backed away. His fear had died somewhere in between Dorian’s second wound. Now, Mahanon wanted blood. He just had to live long enough to get it. 

“Enough!” The Elder One blasted through the fire. “Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.” 

Mahanon spat. “Whatever you are, I’m not afraid.” 

“Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies. Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The will that is Corypheus.” 

If nothing else, Mahanon wanted to stab him on principle alone for that speech. Mindful of the dragon and Dorian’s precarious position at Corypheus’ feet, he clenched his jaw. The fact he was unarmed escaped him for a moment. _Just a little longer, and they’ll be above the tree line._  

“You will kneel.” 

Mahanon almost snorted. “I will not.” 

“You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not.” He raised an orb, glowing red in his hand. “I am here for the anchor. The process of removing it begins now.” 

The mark responded to the orb, opening as it did with the Breach. It seemed if Mahanon wouldn’t feel fear, he _would_ feel pain. It lanced up his arm, making him brace it with his other hand. He clenched his jaw, determined not to give Corypheus the knowledge of how badly it hurt. It felt like his arm would be ripped away from his body. He nearly fell to his knees as the Elder One carried on. 

“This is your fault ‘Herald.’ You interrupted a ritual years in the planning, and instead of dying, you stole its purpose.” Corypheus flexed and Mahanon’s pain reached his neck, his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. “I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched,’ what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.” 

One last flex, and Mahanon couldn’t fight it anymore. He feel to his knees, body on fire. 

“And you used the anchor to undo my work. The gall!” 

The dragon got too close. Much too close. Mahanon growled. 

“Take it then!” 

Corypheus ignored him, walking forwards. He picked Mahanon up by the wrist, dangling him as if he were no more than a doll. _That_ didn’t help his impotent rage. 

“I once Breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the _will_ to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods, and it was _empty_.” 

Mahanon was having a hard time swallowing this was over an existential crisis. But Corypheus’ dead eyes were those of a mad man. Mahanon glanced Dorian’s way, seeing his head lull back. Dorian’s eyes opened. _Hang on Dorian. Please._ Corypheus threw Mahanon against the trebuchet. He fell, not too far from Dorian. Whose hand, it turned out, was grasping the hilt of a sword. 

“The anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling.” 

Mahanon grabbed the sword, fingers brushing over Dorian’s. Trying to let him know to wait, that Mahanon loved him and would not let him die here, in that one touch. Corypheus and his dragon closed in. Corypheus, it seemed, had yet to grow as tired of the sound of his own voice as Mahanon had. 

“So be it. I will begin again, find another way to give the nation—and  _God_ —it requires.” 

At last, the flare went up. They were safe. 

“And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. _You must die._ ” 

Mahanon got ready. “You arrogance blinds you. Good to know. If I’m dying, it is not today!”  

He kicked the trebuchet, releasing it, and grabbed Dorian. He pulled the man to his feet and ran. It must have worked. They didn’t get eaten by the dragon, and he half-dragged Dorian off of the platform. They fell, crashing through wood as the roar of the avalanche surrounded them. 

Burying them. 

~~

Dorian woke to pain, and gentle hands playing over his skin. He was laying against something hard. He opened his eyes, finding Mahanon cupping his face. 

“Your leg is broken, you’ve got a bolt in your shoulder, your arm is lacerated, I think you have a concussion, and we’ve been buried under an avalanche. But we’re alive and the others are safe.” 

Dorian closed his eyes. He shivered. Mahanon pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

“You should have stayed behind. I sh-” 

He reached up with his good arm, grabbing Mahanon’s wrist. “Don’t.” 

Mahanon sighed. Dorian opened his eyes, feeling drugged. Mahanon rubbed his arms. 

“Don’t go back to sleep. We have to keep moving.” 

Dorian grunted. His eyelids were heavy. Mahanon shifted, and Dorian watched him grab the bolt. He felt outside of of his body, far away from the situation. Mahanon seemed to cut the bolt from a distance. Then he yanked it out and Dorian spasmed, groaning. 

“Fasta vass!” 

Mahanon held him down. “Aye I know. Easy ma vhenan. Easy.” 

It was out, and Dorian was awake again. Mahanon had his hand over the bleeding. Dorian just noted his breath smelled like elfroot. Mahanon spat into his hand and smeared the green and _pungent_ mess over the wound. Dorian wrinkled his nose. 

“That is _disgusting_. Did you just have it on you?” 

“It grows everywhere.” Mahanon spat more into his hand, drawing Dorian to his chest and applying it to his back. “It’s this or stitch you up again.” 

Dorian snorted. _Those were the days._

He let his head slump again as Mahanon bound the wound, moving to the one on his bicep. 

“Te amo Mahanon.” 

“Ma’arlath Dorian. But don’t say that because you think you’re dying.” 

“Am I not allowed to die?” 

Mahanon growled. “ _No_.” 

“Then I shall endeavor not to.” Dorian murmured.

“That’s my man.” Mahanon finished with his arm, spitting out the rest of the goo. “On your feet, we have to go.” 

Dorian let Mahanon pull him up. He got dizzy with the pain and the blood loss, having to lean most of his weight on Mahanon. 

“Can you make it?” Mahanon sounded scared. 

Dorian tried to take a step forward. It was agony as he dragged his broken leg.“I believe so. _Your_ man?” 

Mahanon huffed out a laugh as they made their way forward. “Yes.” 

“Well you got your wish amatus. We’re alive and we’re together.” Dorian managed. 

“I must admit, this isn’t what I had in mind.” 

Dorian let out a small cry of pain. Mahanon paused, face strained, and Dorian shook his head. 

“Come now, it’s not so bad. There’s…” 

He trailed off when he saw the demons ahead of them. Fear demons. How apropos to the day. Mahanon sighed. 

“Do you trust me?” 

His hand was glowing in response to the demons. Dorian tried to laugh. It came out strangled. 

“By all means.” 

Mahanon winked and threw his hand. The demons _dissolved_. It was like that day in the future, and Dorian shivered, not for the cold. Mahanon sagged a bit and Dorian did his best to hold him up. 

“Are you alright?” 

Mahanon shook his head. “I’ll be better when we get out of these caves.” 

They both lost their energy for speech. The wind blew through the tunnel, seeming to find every one of Dorian’s hurts. When they finally found the entrance, there was nothing but deep snow for miles. Dorian felt the last of his strength ebb away, despair eating at his heart. Mahanon clenched his jaw. 

“We can do this.” 

Dorian glanced at him. He could see the elf was bound and determined to out-stubborn the snow, the Elder One, the very mountains if he had to. He found himself smiling in spite of everything. 

“I really do love you you know.” 

Half of Mahanon’s mouth quirked up. “I know. Let’s move.” 

Dorian nodded, not sure how he could do this. But if Mahanon thought he could, he’d give it a shot. They stepped into the snow, both of them shivering violently. If the Maker had anything to do with this, Dorian hoped he’d decide to give them a hand now. They could certainly use one. 

~~

Mahanon was in hell. He’d saved the others, only to find it could cost him the only thing he’d ever really wanted. Dorian. Neither of them were in good shape, but the forced march through the snow on a broken leg was taking its toll on the mage. He was shaking violently as he leaned on Mahanon, growing ever more quiet and pale. Neither of them had anything Mahanon could use to build a stretcher, not as the storm picked up, blotting their vision. It got so bad, Mahanon’s only grasp on reality came from Dorian’s heavy presence. Mahanon could only ignore his own body so long, knowing his strength would give out soon. His back and weak ankle ached, his teeth chattered, and he had feeling he was getting frostbite in his fingers. 

They trudged on for what felt like years. Eventually, the storm blew itself out, leaving several feet fresh snow, no trail, and a sky so achingly clear Mahanon became fascinated with it in his near-delirious state. He was starting to feel warm and sleepy, signs he recognized dimly as the first disastrous steps to hypothermia. Dorian gave a small whimper of pain, and Mahanon held onto him a little tighter. 

“Dorian?” 

Dorian’s muscles gave out. He simply became too heavy for Mahanon’s flagging strength. He fell. That woke Mahanon up. Numb terror seeped into his gut and he fell to his knees, seeing Dorian had closed his eyes. 

“Dorian! Wake up! You can’t sleep!” 

He shook Dorian but the mage didn’t open his eyes. Mahanon rubbed at his arms, begging silently. But of course, Dorian didn’t move. Mahanon put his fingers to Dorian’s pulse point. Either there was nothing, or his fingers were too numb to feel a weak one. 

“Dorian please. You have to wake up. _Please_.”

Nothing. No response. Just nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What what. We're getting so close to the end and that makes me sad and happy. Thank you all for your continued awesomeness! Oh and you are supposed to sleep after most concussions, Mahanon is trying to keep Dorian awake cause of the hypothermia thing not the concussion thing.


	35. In Retrospect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it kind of snuck up on me but this is the last chapter before the epilogue. Enjoy

 

_“Destiny is a name often given in retrospect to choices that had dramatic consequences."_ -J.K. Rowling

 

_Dorian watched Mahanon, making sure he came up for air. The elf moved beautifully under the water, muscles pulling him easily. Then his slick head popped up over the surface in a white spray of water. Mahanon flopped onto his back and let the waves carry him to the shore. They deposited the elf at Dorian’s feet, bringing with him immeasurable relief. Dorian wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he had the distinct sense of dread they were never going to reach the ship. One he was trying desperately to ignore. He wanted this last, perfect day with Mahanon._

_“Here I thought you were an elf and not a fish Mahanon.”_

_The elf grinned at him. Dorian smiled back. It gave him infinite pleasure, the gift of Mahanon’s name. Mahanon jumped to his feet and Dorian shook his head, backing away from the waves._

_“Even looking at you makes me green around the gills as it were.”_

_Mahanon looked over his shoulder, to the ocean. “You could always join me.”_

_The elf’s flash of teeth was downright evil._

_“So that I may be covered in salt and get sand in places no one has ever wanted sand? No thank you.”_

_Mahanon nodded, and Dorian assumed it would end at that. Then the crazed elf jumped him, once again proving he was stronger than Dorian despite scarcely coming up to his shoulder. He dragged Dorian, kicking and screaming, into the water._

_“Festis bei umo c-“_

_A burst of salt water flooded his mouth, making him sputter. Of course, that only burned his throat and nose. At Mahanon’s belly-laugh Dorian grinned and tore off his sopping clothes, tackling the elf._

_“You are dead Lavellan!”_

_It was undignified. Uncharacteristic. A ridiculous, childish thing to do. And, in Dorian’s opinion, entirely necessary. It didn’t hurt he got to feel Mahanon’s body, strong and warm and slippery in his hands. It turned out to be the most fun Dorian had had in ages, his dread forgotten. Mahanon had that effect on him. They grappled together until they were both exhausted, collapsing side-by-side in the sand. Dorian didn’t miss the way the elf stared at his body, completely unabashed. He met Mahanon’s eyes, enjoying the moment. Ignoring the painful thump of his heart at the thought of their parting. He broke the eye contact, sitting up on his elbows, resisting the urge to lean over and kiss Mahanon. He closed his eyes, tilting his face to the sun. Savoring the moment._

_“You know, I don’t think I’ve done this since I was a boy.”_

_“Sat on your ass?”_

_Dorian snorted. “Played in the water. My family is from here. My father would watch while my mother and I would collect seashells.”_

_Struck by sudden inspiration, he opened his eyes._

_“Want to try breathing under water? I know a spell.”_

_Mahanon’s grin made the thought alone worth it. “Yes. If you do it too.”_

_Dorian gave an exaggerated sigh. “Very well. Don’t panic, it only stings until you get underwater.”_

_Trying not to think through his next action lest he reconsider, he reached out and touched Mahanon’s breath. He wasn’t sure if he imagined the hitch in the elf’s breathing or not. Than Mahanon leapt to his feet, running towards the water. Dorian repeated the spell on himself and followed quickly. Only Mahanon was gone. Dorian looked around wildly, seeing nothing but fish. Then he looked down, panic gripping him. There, flashes of silver where the elf was struggling. Dorian wondered what had happened, if his spell had failed, as he strained his muscles trying to get to Mahanon. The elf spotted him, eyes wide and oh so green against the dark blue of the water. Dorian grabbed his hand, trying to pull him up. Mahanon pointed down and Dorian saw what the elf was struggling against. Snakes, black as ink and winding their way up Mahanon’s legs, trying to drag him under. Dorian pulled as hard as he could but Mahanon’s hand slipped. Slipped, and then was yanked free as the elf lost his struggle with the snakes, disappearing into the black._

Dorian sat straight up, gasping for air. He cried out with the pain of his broken leg, before he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hush. You need rest.” 

He turned his head, not particularly comforted by the sight of Mother Giselle. She withdrew her hand, gesturing to the cot next to Dorian. On it lay Mahanon, sleeping deeply. He’d fallen asleep facing Dorian, hand outstretched. From the warm spot on his wrist, the reddened skin, he guessed the elf had been holding onto him, even as he slept. Overcome with emotion, Dorian reached over and stroked Mahanon’s hair. The elf stirred, trying to shake off his hand. Then his eyes flew open. Mahanon sat up, flinging his arms around Dorian’s neck. 

“You live.” 

Dorian wrapped his arm around Mahanon’s back, pressing him close and burying his face into the elf's skin, breathing him in. 

“As do you.” 

Tears pricked at his eyes as memory came back. He sniffed and Mahanon squeezed him all the more tightly. Neither of them, it seemed, had the words. 

~~

They let Dorian sleep another night before trying to heal his leg. To Mahanon’s surprise, it was Solas who offered to heal the leg. He didn’t miss Mother Giselle’s frown as Solas joined them in the tent. Mahanon ignored her, sitting next to Dorian and grabbing his hand. The mage rolled his eyes but squeezed Mahanon’s hand anyways. Solas ran his hand lightly over Dorian’s leg, concentrating. 

“This will hurt Dorian, but it will heal straight.” 

Dorian nodded. If he had a quip, he kept it to himself for the moment. Mahanon felt the surge of energy as Solas contacted the spirits. After a moment, his hands began to glow. Dorian stiffened, hand tightening on Mahanon’s. Mahanon’s other hand went to Dorian’s shoulder on reflex. He didn’t like the reminder of how he’d failed Dorian so utterly. That Dorian had been hurt at all had been his fault. He was relieved when Solas stopped. 

“There. Try and stand on it.” 

Mahanon stood by, just in case. Dorian stood and the promptly started to fall. Mahanon caught him, tensing before Dorian blinked. 

“A mite dizzy. No pain though.” 

Mahanon grunted and made him sit back down. He was starting to feel a bit weak himself, though he was loathe to admit it. Then he might have to admit how far gone he was before Cassandra had found them. He kissed Dorian’s forehead and straightened. 

“I’ll track down some food. Thank you Solas.” 

“It was no trouble Lethallin.” Solas gave Dorian a nod and ducked out of the tent. 

Mahanon made to follow him, only to be stopped by a firm hand from Mother Giselle. He glanced down at her hand, raising his eyebrows, and she removed it hurriedly. 

“Apologies Herald, but you should stay as well. I will see to the food.” 

He made to argue but Dorian chimed in. “Hear hear. Quit snarling at the poor woman and come back to bed.” 

If Giselle appreciated Dorian’s commentary, she gave no sign of it. Mahanon sighed and went back to his cot, letting her go. His eyelids were drooping, body exhausted, but he fought it. He stayed sitting, checking Dorian’s temperature with the back of his hand. He didn’t miss the amused glint in Dorian’s eye. 

“You are worse than a mother hen.” 

Mahanon grunted, feeling a surge of emotion. He swallowed and turned his head before Dorian could see. The mage missed nothing though, grabbing Mahanon’s hand in his own. 

“Amatus. Speak.” 

Mahanon shook his head, feeling trapped. Dorian traced his fingers, tickling his palm. When that didn’t work Dorian sat up. He took both of Mahanon’s hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over his skin. Mahanon hung his head. 

“Maybe…maybe it would have been better if we’d never met.” 

Dorian froze. “Is that what you think?” 

The hurt in his voice was unmistakable. Mahanon panicked, gripping Dorian’s hands more tightly. 

“I meant for you. You love me, and it almost killed you.” 

To his surprise, Dorian let out a bark of laughter. “Oh you stubborn ass.” 

Mahanon looked up, and Dorian cupped his face in both hands, shaking his head. Dorian kissed him gently, and Mahanon closed his eyes. There was never a chance he could give this up. But he knew now he couldn’t leave the Inquisition, and he would _not_ be responsible for Dorian’s death. He had to make him see. 

“Dorian look what happened to Sulahn. I can’t let you-”

Dorian shut him up with another kiss. By the grace of Mythal, he was far too good at that. He tried to pull away and Dorian clapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Before you decide to let more foolishness spill out of there, hear me out.” Mahanon had no choice but nod, and Dorian removed his hand. “For starters, I am not Sulahn. Nor, as I believe you are aware of, was his death because he loved you. Furthermore, pretty words for a man who actually _did_ die on me.” 

Mahanon growled. “That-”

Dorian clapped his hand over Mahanon’s mouth again. “I don’t want to hear it. It _did_ happen, I felt it. Just like I felt it when you took that dagger for me. Did it ever occur to you that I’ve had the same doubts about staying with you? Your love for me _has_ gotten you killed.” 

That stumped Mahanon. It was true. It also served to confirm his suspicions that Dorian was better off without him. 

“You left your home for me Dorian. Stood against your family, faced down my clan. I’ve only ever brought you trouble.” 

“No.” Dorian cupped the back of Mahanon’s neck. “You taught me the difference between right and wrong. Showed me what it was to, Maker preserve me, love. Showed me what it is to be a man. I’m better for having known you.” 

Mahanon shook his head, just to be stubborn, and Dorian laughed helplessly. He tugged Mahanon forward until their foreheads knocked together. Any will Mahanon had to push Dorian away evaporated. Turned out, he was a far weaker man than Dorian gave him credit for. 

“Ma’arlath.” 

Dorian hummed, kissing him gently. “I want _all_ of you amatus. The good, the bad, the lethal. If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.” 

Mahanon sank against him. It was a massive relief. Like the rest of the Inquisition, he was feeling lost. They were stuck in the mountains, with no help but themselves. But he had Dorian to tether him. To keep him warm. His eyes drooped again. Dorian’s laugh was little more than a puff of air against his head. 

“You can sleep Mahanon. I’m not going anywhere.” 

Mahanon mumbled his assent, tongue heavy. Dorian gave an exasperated sigh and resettled them. Somehow, Mahanon found himself resting on Dorian’s chest, lulled to sleep by his heartbeat. 

~~

Dorian lay still, pretending to be asleep. If only to avoid the myriad of arguments and stench of fear that had settled over the camp. Even now, Mahanon was in a hushed conversation with Mother Giselle while their esteemed leaders shouted each other down. At last, Mahanon seemed to snap. 

“All of this happened because of fanatics and arguments over the next world. It’s time we start believing in this one.” 

Dorian heard the soft crunch of snow and opened his eyes and sat up. Cassandra, Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine seemed to have worn each other out, each licking their wounds. Mahanon’s shoulders were tight with tension. Then, Dorian watched as Mother Giselle stepped forward. 

“Shadows fall, and hope has fled. Steel your heart, the dawn will come.” 

Dorian felt his mouth drop open as she joined Mahanon. Singing. 

“The night is long, and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come.” 

Even more amazing to Dorian, was when the others started joining in. 

“The shepherd's lost, and his home is far. Keep to the stars, the dawn will come. The night is long, and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come.” 

Dorian looked to Mahanon, watching as his followers crowded him, kneeling at his feet. Dorian longed to rise, to stand at his side. But instinct told him to stay put, if just for the moment. This was Mahanon’s moment. 

“Bare your blade, and raise it high. Stand your ground, the dawn will come. The night is long, and the path is dark. Look to the sky, for one day soon, the dawn will come.” 

The song ended, and the Inquisition shouted into the night. Cheered. Mahanon turned, looking desperately to Dorian for an explanation. He rose, going to the elf. Giselle spoke clearly before leaving them. 

“It is all one world Herald. All that changes is our place in it.”  

Those words an uncomfortable amount of truth for both Dorian and Mahanon. They exchanged a glance, and Mahanon shook his head. 

“They are all mad.” 

Dorian laughed. “Perhaps. But then again, so are we.” 

Mahanon snorted, and turned. Dorian followed his gaze. Solas was waiting, at the edge of the firelight. Beckoning to Mahanon. 

“Go amatus. I’ll be here.” 

The elf grunted. Dorian watched him go, getting a good look at the two elves standing next to each other. They couldn’t be more different if they tried. One pale, wise, and enigmatic. The other young with old eyes, savage in looks and mannerisms. One, Dorian had and would follow to the ends of Thedas. The other, he wouldn’t trust with a butter knife. Dorian was still mulling that over when Cassandra came over to him. 

“May I speak with you?” 

Dorian nodded. “What can I do for you, Lady Cassandra?” 

“Not call me Lady Cassandra for starters.” 

He grinned. “My deepest apologies, old habits, you know.” 

She snorted. “I wanted to thank you.” 

_That_ , he definitely hadn’t been suspecting. _Is there something in the air tonight?_  

“Thank _me_? Whatever for?” 

Cassandra sighed, looking off into the distance. “You nearly lost your life, protecting me, and protecting Mahanon. I owe you an apology as well.” 

Dorian raised his hands. “Please, no more. I assure you, everything I did was for my own benefit. If you had gotten hurt that monster might have come after me!” 

Cassandra leveled him with her gaze. She missed nothing, did the Lady Cassandra. 

“All the same, I have been suspicious of you, unjustly so. Whatever is to happen now, I will gladly fight at your side and his from now on.” 

With that, she made her stately way back to her maps. Dorian was still rather stunned when Mahanon reappeared, shaking his head. 

“Is there something in the air tonight?” 

Dorian laughed. “Would you like to get out of here?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

Mahanon led the way out of the camp. Out of sight and sound of the bleating pack animals, the people, and the firelight. Dorian shivered and Mahanon grabbed his hand. If he’d ever had the ability to enjoy snow, it had died in the blizzard. Still, he felt safe enough with the elf. It helped the night was perfectly clear, the stars out in force with the Breach sealed. Dorian felt a swell of pride at the thought. Mahanon had _done_ that. From slave to hero. Mahanon lead him to a small cluster of trees, the only sound the crunching of their footsteps through the snow. Dorian found a tree to lean against and wrapped his cloak around Mahanon, drawing him close. The elf sighed happily, nuzzling against Dorian’s neck. Dorian smiled, tracing patterns onto Mahanon’s back. 

“What did Solas say?” 

Mahanon was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. “He says there’s a place for us. A fortress, called Skyhold. He wants me to lead the Inquisition there come morning.” 

“I see.” 

Mahanon made a noncommittal noise in his throat, reaching up to peck Dorian’s lips. His were cold. Then he looked into Dorian’s eyes, his catching the starlight. 

“What do you want to do now Dorian?” 

Dorian chortled. “Well, we can’t very well do what I want out here in the snow. I hear frostbite is rather hard on your-”

Mahanon bit Dorian's bottom lip softly to shut him up. “I meant what do you want for us?” 

“You know I was so focused on not being killed I hadn’t thought on it yet. What do you want?” 

Mahanon sighed. “Mythal help me, I want to stay with the Inquisition.” 

Dorian chuckled. “As do I amatus. I can’t very well let Corypheus destroy the good name of Tevinter, now can I?” 

The elf shook with silent laughter, burying his face in Dorian’s chest to hide it. Dorian kissed the top of his head. It was a terrifying thought, this staying business. But it would be worse, for the both of them, if they walked away with the fight half-finished. 

“Whatever is to happen next, I’ll stand by you. I love you.” 

Mahanon looked up at him, face as soft as Dorian had ever seen it. “I love you too.” 

Dorian smiled, heart squeezing painfully. Then he bent and kissed Mahanon, slowly this time. Exploring the elf’s mouth, tracing the lines of his back and chest. He was in this for the long-run, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to take his time. Though, he did have one last question. 

“Do you think they have beds at this fortress?” 

Mahanon groaned and bit his neck, making Dorian and press the elf closer, laughing. 

~~

Mahanon felt like he’d been thrust into this. He’d never felt like much of a leader, and suddenly he was leading a pilgrimage of the faithful through the mountains. Even still, it felt alright. He stopped looking over his shoulder so much, listened when people thanked him. They all spent their days scrabbling over rock and snow. Mahanon liked that as well. Liked wearing his body out during the day, and falling into sleeping skins with Dorian each night. They both recovered their strength on the journey, as did much of the Inquisition. Mahanon even rode Revas on occasion, the hart miraculously surviving Haven with most of Dennett’s horses. Mahanon made a point to thank the man with a gift should the opportunity came up. 

Then, at long last, they found it. Mahanon climbed up a ledge with Solas close behind, straightening when he saw the structure. Solas stood next to him, nodding. 

“Skyhold.” 

Mahanon froze, and then grinned, turning back to the Dorian. The mage smiled, and Mahanon lent him a hand to help him climb the rock. They looked at the lost fortress together, marveling at it. More joined them and Mahanon looked for a path. He found it, and started down. When they arrived at the end of the day, another surprise awaited Mahanon. Both he and Dorian were both happy to find the decrepit fortress did, in fact, have beds. More importantly, it had doors. 

It was a few day later that it happened. Mahanon supposed after that he should have seen it coming. He was helping see to the wounded when Dorian found him. 

“There is something I think you should see.” 

Mahanon frowned and followed him. To where Cassandra, Josephine, Cullen, and Leiliana were waiting for him. He nearly bolted then. The others dispersed, leaving him with Cassandra. Dorian grazed his arm with delicate fingers, smiling encouragingly before following. Cassandra looked pointedly around them, at the crowded courtyard. 

“They arrive daily from every settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage.” She turned, leading Mahanon up the stairs. He followed reluctantly. “If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and numbers to put up a fight here. But this threat is far beyond the threat we anticipated. But we now know what allowed you stand against Corypheus. What drew him to you.”   

Mahanon nearly rolled his eyes. Instead, he held up his hand. “He came for this, and now it’s useless to him so he wants me dead. That’s it.” 

Cassandra was not cowed. “The anchor has power, but it is not why you are still standing here. Your decisions let us heal the sky, your determination brought us out of Haven. You are the creature’s rival because of what _you_ did. And we know it. All of us.” 

At the top of the steps, lay Leliana. A sword flat on her hands. She presented it to Mahanon, and he shook his head in disbelief. But he understood already they all wanted this. That Dorian, wanted this. For some reason. 

“The Inquisition requires a leader. The one who has already been leading it.” 

Mahanon looked down, finding the Inquisition had gathered once more. The faces in the crowd were hopeful, gazing up at him. They _wanted_ him. He found Dorian’s eyes, saw the glow of pride there. He snorted softly, amazed. 

“You.” Cassandra said it with a not of finality. 

Mahanon tried, turning to face her. “It’s unanimous? You all have that much confidence in me?” 

“All of these people have their lives because of you. They will follow.” 

“That wasn’t the question.” 

Cassandra gestured to the sword. “I will not lie, handing this power to anyone is troubling. But I have to believe this is meant to be.” 

Mahanon stepped closer, doubting. Cassandra continued. 

“There would be no Inquisition without you. How it will serve, how you will lead. That must be yours to decide.” 

Mahanon gazed at the sword. Every decision he’d ever made flashed across his mind. His hand reached out almost of its own accord, and he grasped the hilt of the blade. Then he lifted it, testing the weight of it. It was, of course, heavy. 

He was decided. “Corypheus will never let me live in peace. He made that clear. He intends to be a god, to rule over us all. Corypheus must be stopped.” 

Cassandra stood at his side. “Wherever you lead us. Have our people been told?” 

Her voice echoed, reaching the crowd. Josephine answered. 

“They have! And soon, the world!” 

“Commander, will they follow?” 

Cullen stepped forward, then turned to face the crowd. “Inquisition, will you follow?” 

They cheered. Cullen raised his hand. 

“Will you fight?” 

They cheered again, arms thrusting into the air. 

“Will we triumph?” 

Another cheer. Mahanon felt a shiver run down his spine. He glanced at Cassandra. She smiled. 

“Your leader, your Herald, your Inquisitor!” 

The crowd _roared_ as Cullen drew his sword, hailing Mahanon. Mahanon lifted his. They loved that. Caught in the moment, he realized he _did_ want this. Wanted the Inquisition. 

He wanted the fight.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, this is the last real chapter. And believe it or not, this is exactly the ending I wanted. However, from here on out we're going to wildly diverge from canon cause following it is boring. Hope you guys enjoyed! And once again, all the thanks to TheFaye92 for reading through the story again and again and helping me iron out the details. I owe her so much. And you readers, for supporting me and letting this story diverge wildly from what I had originally wanted(in a good way). It's been a hell of a ride with this story and I'm sad to see it end. But hey, we still have an epilogue and a sequel.


	36. Epilogue

_“Silence is the ultimate weapon of power.”_ Charles De Gualle 

Solas kept his vigil over the Inquisitor. He felt obliged to so after Haven, after what the Dalish had done for them. It was the same reason he’d gifted the Inquisition with Skyhold. With Mahanon at the helm, he had hope that his orb would be retrieved. He even had hope for the Dalish themselves, if they produce men like Mahanon. He was still determined to protect the young elf, but no longer from Dorian. What the Tevinter mage had done had certainly left an impression. Solas had helped treat them both when they were rescued from the blizzard. Dorian was looking death in the eye. Another hour or two, and there would have been nothing they could have done. He suspected the mage really had fallen in love with Mahanon. He had never known a self-serving Tevinter mage who would risk his own death to manipulate an elf. 

Still, Solas was curious. He wondered what the Dalish would think, should their villain’s greatest downfall prove not to be hubris, but an insatiable hunger for knowledge. The thought amused him as he fell into dreams their first night at Skyhold. There was something he had to see. Time was not as linear as most mortals assumed. At least, not as far as the Fade was concerned. Spirits grew bored easily. They played out the trials of the past, oftentimes blending them with the future. Even he could hardly tell which was which sometimes. Mortals were nothing if not predictable, committing the same mistakes his own had made. 

Solas wandered to an approximation of Redcliffe. There, he saw an old friend. Compassion, playing out scenes from its past. This one was of a small boy, lost in the woods. The little human looked around, frightened and crying. Compassion approached him, warming him. The boy couldn’t see him, but he appeared to settle down. Warmed, perhaps, by the spirit. Once settled, he was able to pick out the direction he’d come from, and wandered back. A voice could be heard, calling for the little boy. 

“Alistair! Alistair!” 

The boy vanished into smoke, the episode played out. Solas smiled as Compassion returned to its blue form. 

“Old friend. Apologies, it has been too long.” 

“Fen’harel. You are here for Mahanon.” 

Solas nodded. “Can you show me?” 

Compassion simply waved its hand in response. Redcliffe dissolved into a ruin, a frightening mesh of the Fade and the physical realms. And in front of him stood the Inquisitor, on his knees as he fought the pain in his hand. Compassion mind wandered to another scene. The elf was older, face and eyes sharp with pain. He held the broken body of a little girl in his arms. Solas flinched at the damage done to her small form, the violence, for he knew it had been by his own jaws. Seeing his discomfort, Compassion moved to the next scene. Dorian and Mahanon, stepping into a boat. This, Solas wanted to follow. He trailed behind the two, walking on the water as Mahanon rowed. He saw it all. Saw Mahanon defeat the demons, saw him retrieve Solas’ staff. Watched as they said their desperate good-byes. 

He forced his eyes to remain focused as a demonic version of himself ripped the Inquisitor apart and died. Watched Dorian break thoroughly over Mahanon’s body. He was touched by the funeral Dorian provided. He turned away, heart heavy at the future that had come to pass, narrowly avoided by the creation of another one. Compassion laid its hand on his shoulder. 

“There is something you should see. It is…disturbing.” 

Compassion was an old spirit. It had seen much. Solas trusted that whatever the spirit had seen, it had to have been terrible to call it to his attention. They climbed a hill, one that Solas knew would give them a clear view of the Black City. Compassion led him to the top, giving him a vision he’d never seen before. He had seen the magisters enter the Golden City and seen it turn black at their touch. He had seen Dumat fly them to the top and turn archdemon. He had never seen this. 

Dumat, in his full glory, flying to the top. With Corypheus in his corrupted state on his neck. Solas could only watch in horror as the Black City turned to gold as Dumat flew around it. Then he alight at the top, sending a roar that echoed through the Fade, chilling Solas’ bones. 

Waking him up. His hand went instinctively to the time amulet around his neck. Of course, it was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention I'm going to break Thedas?


End file.
